


migraine

by leo_moon



Series: migraine [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: And migraines, Angst, F/M, Implied abuse, Mentions of Death, Mentions of trafficking, NSFW, Old Friends, Smut, Violence, a lil bit of jealousy, bounty is an asshole, descriptions of panic attack, friends to strangers to lovers, mad cursing, mando is dumb, mentions of oral sex, old flame, reader has abandonment issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:27:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22975522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo_moon/pseuds/leo_moon
Summary: “We should’ve gotten it right the first time,” he murmurs, “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?”“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”It still stings to think about the way he left you all those years ago. The pain presses at your temples as though they were under the heel of his boot. Yet, despite it all, pieces of him reside in your heart's home–pieces you're not strong enough to part with.  So when your Mandalorian comes back asking for a favor, the vertigo kicks in.
Relationships: The Mandalorian & Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Series: migraine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734001
Comments: 87
Kudos: 395





	1. scotoma

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! this is my first time really publishing fics since i was like.... 12 years old LOL. im mad thirsty for the mandalorian and i wrote this one night just to get it out of my system. theres more to this fic that i wrote that i'll probably publish later, but for now pls enjoy this one!! bitches really be out here with constant migraines. (it's me im bitches)
> 
> this series is available on my tumblr too!!! reblogs appreciated :)  
> tumblr: leo-moon.tumblr.com
> 
> <3

_“Fuuck. You’re so tight.”_

_You’re delirious, eyes rolling backwards, “Oh my gods, Mando!”_

_He lets out an amused exhale, “That’s not my name, sweetheart.”_

_He loves teasing you when he’s fucking the shit out of you. What a narcissist._

_“C’mon cyar’ika, say my name. I told it to you for a reason.”_

_He shoves his cock in harder and deeper. Like a too-taught instrument string, you snap:_

_“Din!”_

You jolt upwards in your bed, breathing roughly. Sweat was dripping down your brow, and you could already feel a headache radiating from the bridge of your nose. The suns had just peeked over the horizon. You’re exasperated despite having a full night of rest because even though you haven’t seen or thought about him in years, Din Djarin was able to weasel his way into your dreams for the past few nights. You woke up every time heart racing, hair askew, and heat pooling in your cheeks and lower belly. As incredible as dream-fuck Din felt, it always left a sour taste in your mouth. 

Because remembering your days with Din Djarin meant remembering the day you two split up. Your late-night reveries must’ve been a sign from the universe.

The Mandalorian was returning to you.

–

  
Your intuition is unmatched by any other, like you possess a sixth sense. There’s an inner voice inside you that pops in every so often to say, “This is going to happen today,” and then it happens every time without fail. It wasn’t the Force (you’d tested it before and nothing ever came of it.) It was just you. 

_“You’re going to see him again.”_

It echoed in your mind like a prayer. 

_“Him, him, him.”_

You kept splashing your face with cold water, yet the sound of rushing water did little to quell the whispers in your head.

_“He’s here.”_

You walked to the loudest places in town that morning. The haggling market vendors couldn’t kill your intuition. The shipyard’s noisiest cruisers couldn’t drown it out either. 

_“He’s here for you.”_

Your last resort was to day drink his name away, but the second the glass of amber liquid hit the counter in front of you, the cantina door opened.

_“Din.”_

And lo and behold, there he was. In all his shiny beskar glory, there the Mandalorian stood in the door frame, ten paces away. You kept your eyes forward, grabbing the glass in front of you and sipping it slowly. If he wanted something, he needed to come to you. You don’t run to him like a loyal dog; not anymore.

Mando seemed to sense this, and he proceeded to cross the threshold, slowly and menacingly striding towards your place at the bar. He still has the power to silence a room, it seems. You don’t miss having everyone’s eyes on you every time you traveled with him.

_Eight paces, seven, six…_

You’re tempted to ask the bartender droid for the whole bottle.

_Five paces, four, three, two…_

You take a deep breath as he takes a seat. The silence between you feels like lead on your back. At least he senses your conviction to not speak first.

The crackle of his warped voice was unmistakable, “You knew I was coming, didnt you?”

You hold back a sardonic smile, “Of course.”

It falls silent again. He sighs deeply. A small part of you is taking pleasure in the fact that he’s struggling to ask anything of you. Mando is deeply ashamed for what he did and it shows.

“Listen, Y/N, I- ” he tries again, “I-I’m sorry, I know I have no right to ask yo-”  
  


In his modulated rambling, you feel your creeping migraine worsen, “Just spit it out, Mando. I know you need something.”

He freezes at how snippy you are. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and tries to sit up straighter. Sentiments were clearly off the table at this point. You could always count on him to get straight to business. 

“I have a bounty in the Inner Rim. Deep pocket, but I can’t do it without you.”

You let out a scoff this time. He’s ridiculous, “I work alone now. You made sure of that.”

You had to twist the knife a little bit. Years of bitterness and anger haven’t treated you well.

“Y/N.”

You turned your head to the Mandalorian now to really look at him. The black T in his beskar was so familiar; it set your heart on fire. Every time he said your name felt like a blaster to the chest. He’s desperate, you can tell.

“Why me? There’s plenty of other hunters in the Guild who are far more interested.”

You could feel the pain in your head spike again when he said, “You’re the only one I trust with this.” 

You snapped, “ _You really wanna talk about trust, Mandalorian?_ ”

He sat there, seemingly emotionless. Just like he always had. With that stupid fucking bucket helmet. 

Your chest heaved, “You traipse around the universe in your shining beskar armor as if nothing could ever hurt you. Yet the second things got serious, you tucked your tail and ran.” 

Mando leaned forward, probably in an effort to keep the conversation between the two of you. There were enough eyes on you both when he walked in; they didn’t need to hear this exchange.

“That’s not what happened.”

“That’s _exactly_ what happened, and you know it,” You were seething, spiraling further into your white hot rage, “You left me on Nevarro with nothing.”

“I gave you the keys to a ship and enough credits to start over.”

It took everything in your power to not stab him in the middle of the cantina, “That’s clearly not what I meant.”

“Y/N, please, I’m sorry.”

You were sick of this; the pain in your head was becoming too much and parts of your vision began to blur. You pinched the bridge of your nose and closed your eyes, applying pressure against your forehead. When the Mandalorian tried to reach for you, your free hand pushed him away. 

_Of course he remembered the migraines._

That thought doesn’t keep you from leaving your stool at the bar, “Desperation is unbecoming of you, Mando.”

You pull the hood of your scarf over your eyes, and walk out the cantina without another word.

–

When you had gotten back to your ship, The Slipstream, you shut off all the lights and collapsed in your bunk, squeezing the temples of your head for any sort of relief. Whenever you had a migraine, any light felt like a hammer to your temples. You got them often enough to install blackout curtains on your windows.

“A small price to pay for quick wits,” Mando joked. He said that a long time ago, in another time, another place. 

You cursed this part of yourself because for any amount of hours, you were rendered incapable of doing anything. Moving more than ten paces felt impossible, and noises sounded so loud you thought your ears were gonna bleed. A few hours of sleep usually did the trick, but when it didn’t, extra-strength pain pills soothed your stinging brain. But of course, in one of the worst afternoons of your life, your medkit turned up empty. 

You tried to sleep again, but to no avail. Your head felt like it was being assaulted by ten blasters all at once, and you sat in your bunk, writhing in the dark, desperate for the pain to go away.

You didn’t even know you drifted off until you heard a knock on your ship’s door. You groaned both at the noise and the visitor. You didn’t need your dazzling intuition to know who it was. 

It was already nighttime. He stood in front of your door with a full canteen of water and a bottle full of the exact medicine you needed. Your pride wanted to slam the door in his face, leave him there with nothing just like he left you. But your head was screaming for relief, and besides, you could always slam the door _after_ you took his dumb peace offering.

But you didn’t slam the door in his face. You downed two of the pills immediately with a big gulp of water. And then something compelled you to sit down and stay out here with him. So you did.

You leaned against the edge of your ship’s door frame and croaked a simple, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said, gently. 

_How ironic._

Silence, again. You could feel the headache already going away, but the medicine did little to keep your heart bursting out of your chest.

He cleared his throat. 

Here we go again.

“75%”

Oh. 

The offer was _very_ tempting. If the bounty is as big as he says, you could finally invest in better parts for your engine, maybe even a professional blade sharpening. But was the money worth reopening old wounds?

“80%” You say, clipped.

He paused. You knew he was smirking under his helmet.

_“Deal.”_

Giving into him was not ideal, but you couldn’t turn down the credits. You let out a frustrated sigh, “Tomorrow at dawn. Don’t be late.”

Wounds be damned.

Old habits die hard, you supposed.

–

Drawing your curtains back, you stare at horizon, watching the colors of the sky change from black to blue to violet to scarlet. Your head was finally clear of pain, and sleep came easy that night. As you watched the sunrise, you caught him checking the parts of his ship on the tarmac. You thought about the first time you met the Mandalorian; it wasn’t all that different from your encounter with him the day prior. 

Two bounty hunters walked into a cantina. Both walked out on a mission together. The job wasn’t hard, just a few bail skippers that needed to be rounded up and tossed into carbonite. While you both planned on splitting ways afterwards, the harmony between you two was undeniable. You had his back and he had yours; no weak points and no mercy. After that first job, you both silently agreed to stick together. You developed a rhythm after a while. Look for work, hunt, collect, rinse and repeat. Before long, the two of you were swimming in credits for your efficiency. Every other bounty hunter hated the two of you for taking the highest bidders, but they couldn’t help but talk.

Even when you both met Ran and Mando became “involved” with Xi’an, it was still unspoken that the two of you were still as thick as thieves. You chuckle to yourself now, because back then, you _swore_ you weren’t jealous even though you totally were. It was that playful jealousy, however, that started your eventual spiral into demise.

You remember that day in the Razor Crest, crystal clear. Xi’an had been long gone already, and you were sitting in the co-pilot’s chair, joking about Mando’s escapades with her in different parts of the ship.

“You’re not the most _subtle_ lover are you, Mando?” You teased, fiddling with a dull throwing knife Xi’an left on the ship.

He gripped the controls a little harder, his voice tight with embarrassment, “I thought you said you never heard anything.”

You burst out laughing, “Of course I did! I didn’t want to hurt your mighty Mandalorian pride, that’s all.”

You knew he was rolling his eyes at your amusement, “So you heard everything then?”

“Well, not _everything_ ,” you admitted as you turned to face forward, leaning sheepishly backwards in your seat, “It got to a point where I just left the ship whenever you two were around. You remember Deo, don’t you?”

It was his turn to look at you, “You and him?”

You nodded nonchalantly, placing the old knife to the side. You felt a little prideful in his surprise.

“Hm,” he paused, thinking it over, “Was it good, at least?”

You giggled a little bit; you hoped he felt the same sort of envy you felt for Xi’an. Something in your gut pushed you to take this conversation further.

So you said, “It was alright, but I always thought you were better.”

Mando went stiff, his confusion did not go unnoticed, “But we never -”

_Leap of faith._

“I know. I just assumed you were better.”

The lowering of his voice didn’t go unnoticed either, “How _do_ you know?”

“Intuition,” you simply stated. You picked a god and prayed your voice wasn’t wavering.

“And you’re never wrong.”

The air in the cockpit shifted dramatically. When did it get so hard to breathe?

“I’m not.”

You could hear the curve of his lips when he said, “Wanna test that theory?”

Two minutes later, he’s got your ass on his lap and the Razor Crest on autopilot. His right hand is traveling in between your thighs and the other is holding your hip firmly up against his. You’re breathing heavily as you grip the space between his armored shoulders and his neck. It’s been a while; Deo usually dove right in. None of this touching nonsense. 

As if he read your fucking mind, Mando’s hand moved from your thigh to your chin, turning it towards his helmet. He growls, “Hey, don’t think about him when I’m touching you. Focus on me, sweetheart.”

You could feel heat bursting through your veins. Breathless, you say, “Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Mando.”

“Shut up. You’re one to talk,” he reached to grip your breast , “How many times did you hear me and Xi’an and wished it was you?”

You moaned at how roughly he handled you, “Too many fuckin’ times. You were killing me, you asshole.”

His modulator cracked a bit when he laughed, “Sorry, _cyar’ika,_ I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Mando’s thumb made its way back to your inner thigh, and creeped over to your clit. You gasped when he applied pressure and began to rub circles into you. The hand that remained on your hip hooked itself onto the belt of your pants.

“Take these off,” he ordered. Loud and clear.

You turned around to take them off, just to give him a little show. There was something incredibly fucking sexy about him leaning back and watching you strip for him. You lingered there for a bit, turning your head over your shoulder and peering into the inky blackness that was the T-shape on his beskar helmet. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

Mando spun you around and pulled on the back of your thighs to get you back into his lap. You couldn’t describe how excited you were to feel his thick cock growing in his pants. You began to grind against him, and the noise he made should’ve been fucking forbidden. You could listen to him groan forever. 

“Shit, Mando,” you cursed, “I need you.”  
  
“What do you say, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, both from pleasure and intense annoyance. 

“Please, fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

This man could make you bark like a dog. You’d never admit it though. Your hands fly to his belt, unhooking the latches and pulling down the zipper to his pants, freeing his cock that was strained against his waistband. His skin was like sunkissed bronze, you noted. You took his length in your hands, pumping him up and down. Mando’s grip tightened against your thighs, so much so you were sure you’d be bruised later. As you stroked him, you were so tempted to get down on your knees and take him down your throat. His cock was just that beautiful. But you were getting impatient and he looked like he was about to burst into a thousand pieces. 

He cupped your face with his gloved hand. The smell of leather was never the same after that. Mando pulled at the small of your back, positioning you over him. 

“C’mon, angel. That’s it,” he grunted, his breathing was so ragged. 

When he was finally inside, you swore you saw a god. You were so full. The two of you stayed like that for a while, taking each other in, feeling whole and content. And when you began to move, your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping his strong arms, tracing your fingers against his cuirass. Everything, everything. You needed to feel everything.

At some point, you must’ve thrown your head back, and Mando must’ve taken his gloves off while you weren’t looking because you remember him cupping your face with his bare hands.

And they felt _delightful._

You clutched his wrists and leaned into his palms; they were rough and calloused, but his touch still felt so incredibly soft. Your heart skipped a beat when he brought his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“Open,” he commanded. Of course you fucking opened for him; you kissed and sucked his thumb, your eyes never leaving his black visor, “God, you’re gorgeous.”

He pulled his thumb away from your lips, and brought it down to the flesh above your clit. You were already slick and wet, but he still enjoyed the show of you taking his fingers in your mouth anyway. Mando rubbed circles into you again, and you could feel the pressure building in your lower stomach.

“Mando, fuck I-,” you’re gasping, drowning for air, “I’m gonna cum, oh my gods.”

He probably had a dazzling smile under that stupid bucket helmet, “Y-yes, _cyar’ika,_ cum for me. Cum all over me, sweetheart.”

Your moan could wake up a galaxy. You felt your pussy constrict around him, throbbing and chasing your release. He came shortly afterwards, spilling himself into you while huffing out short, modulated breaths.

And then you heard him whisper something low. 

“What did you say?”

“Din,” He said in between breaths, “My name. It’s Din Djarin.”

Telling you his name was his first mistake. Falling for him after that was yours.


	2. acute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a hunt turns into a rescue mission. 
> 
> !! TW: mentions of trafficking and implied abuse, violence !!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI JUST A NOTE SAYING FUCK HUMAN TRAFFICKING >:(  
> it's a super huge problem in my city and i rly wanted to make the reader a protag who fights against it.  
> u also got nurse!mando at the end go feral
> 
> available on tumblr too @leo-moon

“So, tell me about this big quarry again?”

Your exit ramp was down, and Mando stood at the bottom, watching you gather materials from your ship to put in a satchel. He insisted on taking the Razor Crest for this mission, even if The Slipstream was newer and a bit more reliable. You supposed you could let the ship rest and refuel for a few days while you were away. 

“His name is Khan Horne from Canto Bight; he’s wanted for running multiple sex trafficking rings throughout the galaxy,” he paused for a second, watching you struggle to grab something from a high shelf. 

“I thought you said -” You grunted as you stood on the tips of your toes, “this job was Inner Rim.”

You almost jumped out of your skin when you felt a hand on your shoulder; the Mandalorian was suddenly behind you. Being the gentleman that he was, his free hand reached past your face to pick up the blaster from the shelf up above. It was annoying how that simple action warmed your cheeks.

“It is. Bounty hunters are the New Republic’s last-ditch chance at catching him. That’s why he has such a high reward,” Mando twisted it in his hands, “You still have this?”

You swallowed thickly, “Never found a reason to throw it out.”

The blaster was small and old, but it still held a charge. Mando gave it to you after you found yourself defenseless when your blades found themselves lodged in a wall in the middle of combat. Little did he know, you couldn’t hit anything unless it was less than four paces in front of you. A lot of your free time after that was filled with target practice and drills. You remember your stomach lurching whenever he put his hands on you to change your stance. He had a habit of leaning in close with his hand on the small of your back, the other pointing towards an old Stormtrooper helmet perched on a wall.

Nowadays, you don’t shoot much, but you still took it on every mission just in case. 

He handed it back to you, handle first, “You still a terrible shot?”

You took it and tucked it in your ratty side holster, “I’m better than you think, old man.”

A part of you hated how easy it was to talk to him after all these years. When you were with him now, it felt futile to stay angry at someone you shared such a deep connection with at some point in your life. But you haven’t forgotten those first days in the Slipstream, makeshift curtains out of your clothes, crying your weight in tears and dealing with one of the worst migraines of your life. You remember heaving bile in the shipyard with how disoriented you were. 

Maybe one day, you’ll tell Mando everything you went through after his disappearance. You knew it could crush him; he’d spill out apologies until you were drowning in them. But then again, maybe not. He _did_ leave you stranded on a planet all alone after fooling you into thinking you two would stick together as a team, maybe even more. You couldn’t really tell what he was feeling behind his beskar helmet. He was obviously being soft on you now, but you honestly think it’s because he’s trying to save face for what he’s done to wrong you. 

It was all very headache inducing. That was the last thing you needed right now.

When you closed up the Slipstream and boarded the Razor Crest, you expected everything to be pretty much the same. And it was, save for the tiny wrinkly baby cooing in a little floating pod.

“Um, congratulations?” You were only slightly panicking. Who the _hell_ did he have a baby with?

“It’s not mine,” he said, quick to explain, “biologically. That is.”

“Oh.”

“He’s... in my care until I find his people.”

You walk up to him, and raise your hands up to his pod, “May I?”

Mando nodded; at his consent, you gingerly nuzzled his head with your fingers. He gurgled in delight, his big eyes squinting with happiness. He was achingly _adorable_. 

“Hello there,” you introduce yourself, oh so gently, “You must be Mando’s new partner. You must be sick of him already, huh?”

You shoot a pointed smirk at the Mandalorian, and he shakes his head, amused.

Kids were never really something on your radar. They weren’t right for the way you lived. However, every so often (when you’re especially exhausted from bounty hunting), you let yourself dream about a day when you’d eventually settle down in a cottage, one with lots of windows, and on the cliff near an ocean. You would maybe be married, with one or two children to bring up and raise as your own. The windows would be open to let in the ocean air, curtains delicately drifting in the wind, and you would be sipping on a cup of tea with your family softly sleeping around you. Your daydreams were so domestic because you envied people who had such peace; no blaster smoke or iron blood in your mouth. Just a sleepy home with laughing children, sea breeze and sunshine. In another time, you’d imagined Mando there, no helmet or beskar armor. Just him and you and home. 

You don’t think about that cottage much anymore.

Pulling yourself out of your thoughts, you turned away from the child to Mando, who was already settling into the pilot’s chair, setting coordinates.

“Jaemai?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“The planet is a big hub for travelers in-transit, especially between Rims,” The Mandalorian 

explains, “It’s basically a glorified airport; busy enough to transport people without a trace.”

You lifted the tracking fob off the console, turning it around in your hands, “Is that where he was last spotted?”

“Yes, but with how evasive he is, we’d be lucky to catch him there at all.”

You hum in agreement and take a seat in the co-pilot chair, “We need a plan. With an operation as big as his, he probably has men hired to protect him at all times.” 

It was like no time had passed between you two. Discussing strategy was always easy, probably because there weren’t any feelings involved: just a bounty. Much to Mando’s dismay, the two of you decided that his presence in any of the terminals would be highly suspect. It was easier to have you undercover as a young, lonely traveler. Mando would have the high ground in the air traffic control tower, scanning the area just in case Khan takes off. 

You looked for clothes that were the least ragged and dirty; many of the people who traveled through Jaemai were dignitaries, senators and the like. (Basically, not dusty bounty hunters like you.) The lack of a utility belt and combat jacket left you struggling to fit any weapons on your person. You were dressed as a doctor and you were able to tuck your blaster so that it would be hidden by your flowing lab coat, but you had to sacrifice your dual blades for small throwing knives under your sleeves. The blades needed to be put elsewhere, which wasn’t ideal in an emergency, but you felt more comfortable having them at all. 

“Leave your commlink on the whole time,” Mando advised as he pushed the tracking fob into your hands, “If anything goes south, come back to the Razor Crest immediately and we’ll figure something else out.” 

You nodded, sticking the tracking fob in the inner pocket of your lab coat. You took the leather satchel that carried your weapons, and walked down the exit ramp onto the tarmac. 

“See you on the other side, Mando,” you say to him

“Y/N,” he called, “Be safe.”

You took a deep breath and kept walking through the gates of the shipyard to catch a shuttle for the departure terminal. Jaemai’s transit system was enormous; it crossed stretches and stretches of land, and you hoped that you wouldn’t need to scour each one to find a single man. The first terminal was reserved for transit in between the Inner Rim and Core worlds; you figured that if Khan had been running circles under the nose of the New Republic, it would be the best place to start. 

Three hours later and you haven’t even covered half the terminal. It’s so huge that finding a single man here would take an entire day. He’s definitely here though; the tracking fob took you somewhat closer to the right direction, but he was still able to blend in amongst the crowd. Nausea and pain in your temples were starting to settle in; being in such a loud and cramped space was an easy trigger for a migraine. You scrambled to the nearest refresher, slipping into one of the stalls and shutting the door behind you. Reaching into your satchel, you pulled out the bottle of pain pills and a flask of water.

“Y/N, come in,” Mando’s voice through your commlink startled you into dropping your pills onto the ground, “Is everything okay?”

You groaned, “Yes, I’m fine. Just frustrated. This guy could be anywhere, Mando. I think we need to cut our losses and wait for him to move.”

You heard him sigh, “It would take a few days to refuel depending on where he ends up next. We need to catch him here while we can.”

You rubbed your temples with your fingers; he was right. You needed to pull it together or else you’d probably never find Khan at all. You bend over to pick up the pills on the floor but you freeze at the sound of a sniffle. _Is someone crying?_ Pushing open the door to your stall, you locate the sobs of a girl two doors over.

_“Knock on the door. She’ll tell you what you’re looking for.”_

So you knock, “Um, hello?”

Mando is questioning you from the other line, but you ignore him. The door to the stall is unlocked, and you push further. You see a Twi’lek girl frozen and curled up in the corner next to the toilet. Tears were running down her face, and a nasty welt was forming at the corner of her eye. Your heart ached; she couldn’t have been older than 19. 

She tensed in her spot, and she looked ready to dash out the door, but you held your hands out in front of you to ease her fear.

“Hey hey, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you, I promise,” you said gently. Mando went silent over the line choosing instead to listen intently.

She stayed still, but refused to speak. Instead, she pushed herself further against the wall behind her. You set your bag down on the floor carefully, and then you took a seat a few paces in front of her.

“My name is Y/N,” you introduced, “What’s yours?”

She still said nothing, sniffling and shifting uncomfortably in the corner. 

You tried again, “I’m a doctor. I can help you with your eye. It looks like it hurts a lot.”

You reach into your satchel and pull out your medkit, careful to conceal your blades; you don’t want to scare the poor girl. From the kit, you take out a bacta wipe and hold it out in front of her.

“May I?” you prompt calmly, waiting for her to come to you. And she did. She unfurls from her corner, and slowly crawls towards you. You smile as you gently take her face in your hand, and wipe along the bruised area. The area starts to heal already, and her labored breathing has returned to a normal pace.

She’s looking down at her knees as she whispers, “Aayn’vida”

“That’s a lovely name,” you say. You reach into your bag again, pulling the flask of water and handing it over to her, “Here, drink some water.”

“Thank you,” She croaks as she unscrews the cap and chugs it down. 

“Aayn’vida,” you sit up a little straighter, “ Do you mind telling me you did this to you?”

She freezes mid sip and starts to shut down again. Your chest constricts at how afraid she is.  
  
“I fell, that's it.”

“You can tell me if you need help. I’m here to help you-”

She shifts again, looking around and suddenly on high alert, “What is that beeping?”

You’re caught off guard, “What?”

“Your jacket. It’s beeping. Is that a tracking fob? Are you here to take me too?”

Your heart rate starts to pick up. If the fob is beeping, that means Khan is close. You scramble for a response that won’t scare Aayn’vida away because it’s abundantly clear to you that she’s involved with this whole situation.

“No! No, it’s just a pager,” you reassure her, “It’s just telling me I’m going to depart in an hour, but I won’t leave you unless you’re okay.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. You try to wrack your brain again to save face, but then a loud banging comes from the door. Your tracking fob is beeping even louder now. Aayn’vida seems to react automatically to the loud knocking at the door, springing upwards.  
  
“I’m sorry, ma’am but I need to leave,” she quickly stammers, pushing through the stall and striding towards the door. 

“Wait!” You grab her arm, “Aayn’vida, I can protect you. You just need to tell me what’s going on.”

She’s on the verge of tears again. She whimpers “You can’t; he’ll kill you and then he’ll kill me too. He’s evil and-”

You grip her shoulders and steady her as another angry stream of knocks come again. “Who is ‘he’? What is his name?”

_“Khan. Khan Horne."_

\-- 

Mando’s voice suddenly cut through your commlink, “I’m coming over. Keep the girl safe.”

“Okay. Be careful. I’ll meet you at the Razor Crest”

She looked at you, eyebrows furrowed. The knocks came again, and they were growing increasingly louder and heavier. It only panicked Aayn’vida more. You look her in the eyes again, and hold her shoulders tighter.

“Aayn’vida, I’m going to need you to pay close attention to me, do you understand?” You speak to her firmly and quickly, “Stay behind me and under any circumstances do not leave my side.” 

She nods, and watches intently as you secure the satchel to your person and pull the tracking fob from your coat. The beeping is echoing off the walls of the bathroom; it’s deafening. 

_“He’s right outside the door.”_

Your head pounds at every knock at the door, but for Aayn’vida’s sake, you keep up your strength. 

You hold her hand as you open the door, and you’re met face to face with Khan Horne, an incredibly well kept man dressed in an expensive suit. He scowls at the sight of Aayn’vida cowering behind you. 

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice is grating. It feels like knives against your skin, “Who are you? What are you doing with my daughter?”

You bore daggers into his bronze brazen eyes, “I’m afraid that’s none of your concern, sir.”

“This is preposterous!” he snarled, “Hand her over immediately or I’ll make you pay, sweetheart.” 

He slams his hands against the door frame in an attempt to intimidate you, moving in closer to gain the upper hand. You’re quicker than him though; in an instant, you have a small knife to his throat, digging it ever-so slightly deeper.

“Unfortunately, for you Mr. Horne, Aayn’vida is now _under my protection._ ”

“You _bitch,_ ” He hisses at you, blood trickling at the fresh wound in his neck.

You push forward out of the bathroom and edge the girl into the hallway, keeping your blade trained at Khan until the two of you can slip out into the terminal crowd. You grip her hand and begin rushing towards the nearest exit. As the two of you push through the droves of travelers, you immediately notice men moving quicker towards you. 

“Mando?” You call, pressing the link closer to your ear, “His men, they’re everywhere.”

You hear him grunt on the other line, “They’re out here too. Don’t try and fight them, just get outta there.”

Khan’s men were flanking all around you, inching in closer and you’re trying not to panic. Your brain is pounding and yelling at you to find a solution. You can’t take all of them by yourself. If you tried, Aayn’vida would end up taken again, Khan would disappear and your body would be dumped on a tarmac. 

_“Think, think, think.”_

And then you see it along the far wall, a fire alarm. You take the knife you used against Khan in your dominant hand

_“Maker, give me something.”_

You throw, and it lands perfectly, shattering through the glass and straight to the switch. Water and cooling steam rains from the ceiling, as if it were falling from the heavens. The terminal spirals into chaos with civilians yelling and scrambling to get to evacuate. Khan’s men are thrown for a loop. Your grip on Aayn’vida’s hand tightens, and you sprint towards the exit.

“Mando!” You plead through the comm link, “Get to the ship! We need to go!”

“Y/N! H-h-ell-?” Your heart plummets to your stomach when the line fizzles dead. In your stress, you scream a curse and rip the earpiece off and toss it to the ground. Khan and his men are still in tow and you need to keep going, Mandalorian with you or otherwise.

“Sorry! I need this,” you push an unsuspecting droid off a speeder, and take it for yourself, heaving Aayn’vida behind you, “Hold on!”

You take off at full speed and before you know it, you’re both running through the shipyard.

You rush up to the bay door of the Razor Crest, banging loudly and yelling for Mando to open up. Your chest stomach lurches when no one answers.

“I believe you have something of mine, _doctor._ ” 

You whip around, pushing Aayn’vida behind you against the ship and arming yourself with another throwing knife. Khan has two of his men flanking him, both with blasters trained on you and the girl. Your head was searing with pain.

“Drop it, sweetheart,” his skeevy voice chided, “You’re clearly outnumbered three to one.”

You smirked, “I like those odds.”

_“Hey, that’s his line.”_

Khan Horne’s face soured at your indifference, “You’re partner isn’t here, bounty hunter! My men are taking the Mandalorian down as we speak.”

“You clearly underestimated him then,” you taunt, stalling for time, “He’s the best in the parsec, didn’t you know?”

He’s getting impatient, you can tell. Khan raises his hand and his men take aim.

“Wait!” You hold your hands up, “If you can triple the bounty on your head, I’ll let her go and you won’t hear from me again.”

Aayn’vida rustles nervously behind you. Khan stops his men and takes a second to think over your offer. He narrows his eyes at you in apprehension, “What is keeping me from killing you and taking her myself?”

“The New Republic will always send hunters your way. I can clear your name in the Guild with Greef Karga and guarantee your immunity,” You try to keep your voice from shaking. You know you couldn’t _actually_ clear his name, but he didn’t know that, “Just give me the credits and say the words.” 

The thirty seconds he takes to think your offer over feel like an eternity. 

And then, by some miracle, he says, “Very well then. Cuff her for me, will you?”

He waves off his men and they lower their aim. 

You turn around and guilt overwhelms you when you see the fear and shock in Aayn’vida’s eyes. You’re terrifying her. As you open your satchel to reach for the cuffs, you briefly show her the hilts of your weapons. You give her a knowing look and hope she understands.

_“Trust me.”_

You slip both hilts up into one your sleeves, and hold them in a way where they wouldn’t be seen by Khan and his men. You then put the cuffs around Aayn’vida’s wrists, and turn around striding forward, gently pulling the girl by her restraints. Khan has already put the credits in a box, and he’s stupid enough to hand it off to you first. 

You take the box and deck him in the face as you push Aayn’vida back towards the Razor Crest. You command her to take cover as you finally unsheathe your dual shock blades from their retractable sheath. His men are quick to take aim, but you’re quicker. You drop to the ground to swipe at the left man’s legs. He cries in pain, electrocuted and stumbling over himself. You slash his chest and kick him backwards. 

You yell when you feel a hot surge rip through your right side, and you curse yourself for nearly forgetting about the man on the right. With all your strength, you launch your left blade into his shoulder, pinning him against the concrete wall behind him. You raise your other sword to deliver a final blow, but the click of a blaster makes you freeze.

“That’s _enough!_ ” Khan’s voice is unhinged, “I’ve had enough of you, _you fucking whore._ I’m not just going to kill you; I will break you. I will throw you to the ugliest creatures in this galaxy and let you rot!” 

“ _That_ won’t be necessary.” 

Another blaster click. Mando’s smooth voice sounded like a song from an angel. Relief washed over you like an ocean wave. You dropped your hands to the side, and turned to Khan with a victorious grin. 

“He can bring you in warm, or he can bring you in cold.”

You knew the Mandalorian was smirking under that shining beskar helmet.

Khan cursed loudly, finally accepting defeat. He dropped his blaster to the ground, and Mando roughly pulled his wrists to bind them. You trudge over to Aayn’vida, unlocking her restraints.

“Sorry I gave you such a scare back there,” you say, holding out your hand for her to take “I really didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay. You did what you had to,” She croaks. As you go to pull her up, however, a sharp pain shoots through your waist and you cry out.

“Dr. Y/N, you’re bleeding!” Aayn’vida cries as she catches you and loops your arms over her shoulders.

Any relief that you felt at the Mandalorian’s return and the capture of the bounty quickly dissipated when you looked down at your side. You could feel that your skin was singed, and red was seeping through your godforsaken lab coat and dripping further down your legs. Your head is crescendoing with pain, and black is creeping into the corners of your vision. You haven’t felt a blaster wound with a migraine before; Aayn’vida is hastily hobbling you to the ramp of the Razor Crest. Her words are becoming garbled; you hear her call out for Mando. You think he said your name. 

The last thing you see are the shadows of his beskar helmet, and the last thing you feel are his leather gloves, scooping you up and carrying you up the ramp into the ship. He says your name over and over again, and you make out only a few of his words.

“Stay with me.”

“Y/N, please.”

He’s setting you on his bunk, stripping you of your lab coat, and spraying the area with bacta spray. You wail at the agonizing sting, and your vision is completely blurring over. You were in _so much pain._ You feel leather fingers against your cheek; he’s wiping away tears you didn’t know were falling. He’s shushing you softly as he ties your lab coat around your waist as a temporary gauze.

“Sssh, lay down _,”_ he whispers as he gently eases you down onto a bed, “You’ll be okay, _cyar’ika_.”

The bed is his. You thought he brought you to your old bunk, but it’s his. You know it.

_“It still smells the same.”_


	3. chronic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives.”
> 
> When you and the Mandalorian existed in another time, another place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this literally took so long to write bc i basically changed the last half of this fic, but i’m rly happy with the results. there was a lot i wanted to include about life before din left, and i thought i’d put them in separate like one shots, but i figured that it would be include in the main story too. this is basically like an anime recap episode LMAO. enjoy!! thanks for the love <3

Dreams these days never really consisted of anything new. Old memories played in your head like a holovid, both the good and the bad. Tonight, they were filled with him _.  _

In the beginning, the two of you never really acknowledged what  _ it  _ was. 

You fucked only a few more times after the cockpit. Business always came first, of course, and sex wasn’t a regular occurrence. But when the tension (often mixed with the adrenaline of bounty hunting) became too much to handle, you were all over each other. Most of the time, you were in either of each other’s bunks, and you only did it in the cockpit when you couldn’t bother to go down the ladder. At first, you chalked it up to strictly satisfying physical needs. With the two of you in such close quarters, it only made sense. The aftermath often involved getting dressed and cleaned up in silence. There would be an occasional joke or two, but the discussion usually steered itself towards the next mission. 

But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives. Your hands would linger on each other longer. He seemed to loosen up around you, joke around and indulge you in conversation. It was such a stark contrast to his menacing, stoic warrior demeanour he used when rounding up bounties.

Once, you found yourself too distracted and flustered to even spar with him.

“At this rate, you’ll never win a match against me,” he poked, legs straddling your waist as he pinned your arms down

“Oh, shut up,” you huffed, irritated. He had won against you using the same move,  _ twice.  _

You’d never tell him, but your eyes were definitely indulging over the build of his body, imagining the way his bare muscles flexed or his lips moved against yours. 

Squirming against him, you hiss, “Off, Mando.”

He chuckles and your chest tightens.  _ I bet his real voice sounds like heaven. _

“I dunno, I think I like you like this.”

He studies you under him, helmet tilting sideways watching your chest heave up and down. A wave of heat washes over you at the thought of tearing off his mask and pulling him down for a kiss. Mando lightly laughs again and you swear you’re going to fucking lose it.

“I think you like it too.”

With all your strength, you bring your knee into the small of his back, knocking him forwards as you twist to launch him off of you. After shuffling up to stand, you spin on your heels and march away, embarrassed at how he’s got you flushed and smiling like an idiot schoolgirl. 

He’s still groaning in pain when he calls to you, “Done already?”

You stumble on a witty response, “You’re  _ the worst _ !”

_ Smooth. _

_ \-- _

You weren't the only one losing their cool. Mando became a lot more defensive of you in those days; you nearly killed him once because he kept trying to cover you from blaster fire. He even started a bar fight for you. 

You hated the stares you received by virtue of being around him; traveling with him always meant that being unassuming was impossible. Normally, people would avert their eyes. If you were particularly lucky, a poor soul would try and push the Mandalorian’s buttons, not realizing they’re digging their own graves. One day, however, you’d hit the jackpot when they decided to target you. 

You sat across from him in a booth, patiently waiting for the quarry to pass through; you took the side facing the door while he was turned away, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Out of the corner of your eye, three drunk bumbling idiots stumbled from the opposite end of the bar. Despite your stealthy gaze, one of them locked eyes with you, and when you saw his lips curl into a disgusting smile, you knew you were in for it. 

The man you saw and sauntered over to your side of the chair. His friends shuffled behind him like dogs, and he practically beamed when he saw Mando, seemingly nonchalant.

“My my, Mando! You’ve got quite the catch here,” he says, undressing you with his eyes, “Where’d he buy a thing like you, baby?”

_ Are you fucking serious? _   
You cocked an eyebrow and shot him a glare in response, but remained quiet. You turn back to your view on the door, praying to Maker that he’d leave you alone. But the man didn’t let up.

Instead, he turns to your partner inquiring,

“How good of a lay is she, huh, Mandalorian? Bet she’d be a real treat for me and my boys” his men move a little closer to corner you both, “How much to take her off your hands?”

_ Can a girl just  _ _ exist _ _? _

“I’m  _ not _ for sale,” you snarl, voice tight. A dull pain begins to echo in your temples.

“So she speaks,” Your irritation only seemed to egg him on, “C'mon darlin’ let us take care of you. I promise I’m good for it.”

Your fingers were itching towards your blades, but you were still waiting on the quarry to enter the cantina. A scene would scare him away and you would lose your money  _ and  _ time.

Business comes first. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Mando’s voice cut through your exchange, “ _ Get lost, _ she said she’s not interested.”

“Now, that’s not what we heard, was it boys?” His men laugh in agreement behind him. His eyes turn dark as he goes to place a hand on your shoulder, “The lady can speak for herself. I think we can negotia-”

A blaster shot whizzes by your ears before you can even think to fight back against him. Mando, ever the gunslinger, shoots again towards his leg, knocking him onto the floor.

And then the whole bar descends into chaos. 

Drunkards pile on top of each other as tensions crescendo; the sound of a single shot has everybody up in arms. Your migraine only grows in intensity as the situation spirals out of control. To top it off, amidst the chaos, you see the quarry a few paces away. His eyes were wide watching the shitshow before him, and in a panic, he scurried back out the door.

You’d caught him eventually, but not without traversing the entire underground marketplace that stretched under the city. By the time he was in carbonite and you were both in the cockpit, your irritation boiled over.

“Are you  _ insane,  _ Din?” You fumed, “When did you get so careless? We nearly lost him!”

He simply looked at you as if you knew the answer, but his silence only fueled your exasperation.

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” you grumbled, throwing your hands in the air, “I’ll be in the refresher.”

You turned to leave, but his gloved hand suddenly gripped your upper arm, spinning you into his chest. It was then that you realized how much  _ bigger  _ he was, dwarfing you in his arms as he rubbed the space above your elbows. 

“He was gonna touch you,” Mando’s voice was low, bordering on a growl.

_ Oh. _ The air in the room shifts dramatically.

You take a shaky breath, your voice quieting down to a whisper, “And if he did?”

The gloved hands on your arms squeeze like a vice grip. Your heart swells.

“He’d have a hole in his head.”

Your expression softens before your lips spread into a sly smile. You move as close as you can, eyes boring into the black space of his visor.

“Tell me something,” you swallow hard as you gingerly move his hands to your waist and trace your fingertips over his breastplate. Mando’s breathing is ragged through his vocoder, and you relish in his excitement. You bat your eyelashes a few times before peering up at him.

“ _ How good of a lay am I, Mandalorian?” _

His fingers dig deeper into your sides before pulling you even closer, erection already stiffening against you. He groans out a response,  _ “Let’s find out.” _

\--

There were little things that warmed your heart, too. When you were stuck in your bunk with a migraine, he never let you get up to do anything by yourself. He brought you water and food and he took extra care in opening the door so no light was let in and he wasn’t too loud. When you could tell he was dozing off in hyperspace, you forced him to go to bed. If he was particularly stubborn, you shoved him into the co-pilot’s chair and covered him with a blanket. Sometimes, if you came across a market with a few extra credits, you’d cook him a real meal, leagues better than the shitty ration packs you normally partook in. 

And then, there was the first time he kissed you.

You were strolling through a bazaar before a job when you stopped at a produce stand, excitedly picking up a fuzzy white peach from the box.

“I haven’t eaten one of these since I was a teenager,” you say, bringing up it to your nose and sniffing, “They smell amazing. We should get some later.”

Much to your chagrin, the job went south that day. You were so frustrated and angry that you’d completely forgotten about it, caked in mud and grime demanding to go straight back to the Razor Crest.

Holed up in your bunk and fresh out the shower, you were clad in only a long sleeve shirt and underwear when you heard him knock. When you opened the door, you were surprised to see the fiercest hunter in the parsec standing before you with a plate of peaches from the market, sliced neatly into little wedges. 

Mando sat with you on your bed as he watched you eat; you told him about how the fruit used to grow on trees in your family’s orchard in the summer. Though you acted like you were sick of them, you always ate it when you were upset. You smiled at the memory of your adolescence, silently cutting up the fruit into wedges and eating them outside during dawn, right after your first break up with some boy.

You were so caught up in the memory that you nearly jumped when Mando leaned in and took your chin in his right hand. His finger traced over the side of your lips, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“Sorry, it’s just,” he uttered, “It was going to drip on your chin.”

You would’ve thought he’d lit your body on fire. Your core ached and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. When he began to pull back, it felt like instinct to grab his wrist and keep his hand near your face. You leaned into his touch, pressing a chaste kiss to his thumb. 

You began to crawl across your bunk to him when he stopped you, “Wait.”

Mando stood, and closed the door and shut the lights off. Darkness enveloped you both, and you called out to him, “Din?”   
His voice cut through the inky dark, “Can you see anything?”

You hear him shuffle, as he stands in front of you, “I dunno, can I?”

“Y/N,” he urged, impatient.

“No, Din. I can’t see.”

And then you hear the air hiss, and metal clanging to the floor. Realization hit like a meteor crash.

_ He took it off. _

You panic immediately.

“Din, wait! What are you doi-”

You shut up the instant his hands cup your face and his lips are on yours.

And it felt delightful, better than any kiss you’d ever had. Your eyes flutter shut as you deepen the kiss. Your arms go to wrap around his neck, and you pull him even closer, elated at the way his soft hair feels in between your fingers. You were sure that he could taste the sweet, tangy peach on your tongue. When he pulls away for air, your face feels flushed with heat and you could feel your swollen lips.

You’re in a daze, “You kissed me.”

He laughs and you hear it. His real voice _. _ No distortion. No modulator. 

“I did.”

_ He does sound like an angel. _

“Do it again.”

\--

When it all broke apart, it wasn’t like the steady, dawdling way you fell in love. The break was quick and it stung worse than any migraine. 

“What do you think?”

You walked around the cockpit, tracing your fingers over the controls.   
“Why? You thinking of an upgrade?” You shoot Mando a smile. He doesn’t seem amused, “It’s nice, I guess. Smaller, though. We already have a tough time fitting together in the Razor Crest.”

You’d been on Nevarro for a few days, having finally finished your last job. Instead of going back to the Crest, however, Mando took you to a shipyard and aboard an empty cruiser. The Slipstream’s windows were big and were much cleaner, but space was still an issue even if you and Din didn’t carry much.

You turn to him expecting a response, but he only says, “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Mando,” you reach for his shoulder, “What is this about? I don’t understand. Why are we here?”

He doesn’t stop to answer, “I said, let’s go.”

You let out a huff as you followed him out of the cockpit. Ever since you landed, Mando’s behavior had flipped like a switch. Your friendly talks had been reduced to one-sided exchanges. He’d been ignoring you, cold like the beskar he donned on his back. 

“Mando!”

He kept walking down the loading ramp. His terrible attitude had made your blood simmer for a while, and now it was all boiling over. 

You stomp forwards, stopping at the entrance to the hull and shout. 

“Din, stop!”

And he does, but he doesn’t turn around.

You’re fuming, “What is your problem? You’ve been in a shitty mood ever since we got here and frankly I-”   
You’re interrupted by something flying towards you, instinct having you catch in your hands. It’s a small silver device. Code sets, for what could only be the ship you’re currently standing on.

The dots begin to chaotically connect in your head, “What the hell is this?”

“It’s the -”

“No, Din. I know what this fucking thing is,” You’re seething with panic and rage as you hold up the silver box, “I mean, what are you doing?”

He only stares up at you, the mask emotionless and frigid. The reality of the situation was crashing into you like waves; you were begging to any god that this was just a fucked up nightmare. Tears were stinging in your eyes, threatening to pool and pour over. 

You hated how your voice cracked, “Answer me!”

“I’m leaving you, Y/N.”

Fuck. Hearing him say it out loud made your gut wrench. 

You made an audible sob; you couldn’t control it. Shuffling to the bottom of the ramp, you’re desperate to try and connect to him, bring him back to you. The questions spill from your lips.

“Why? What did I even do? What’s wrong?” You bring your hands up, cupping the sides of his helmet. You whisper through your cries, “Din, please.”

You know. You feel it in your bones. You know he feels it too. 

He gently holds your wrists, “We can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” You plead, “I know something’s wrong, you gotta let me in.”

“Y/N, please don’t make this harder than it already is,” he chides, pulling your hands away from his helmet. Your heart feels like it’s in freefall when he turns around to continue walking.

You try to scramble forward to pull him back but to your horror, you’re met with the barrel of a blaster. The noise that roars through your ears sounds like shattering glass. You gape at him, a mixture of shock and disbelief contorting your features. The figure that stood before you was unrecognizable. Because it wasn’t Din, the soft lover who kissed you in the dark and traced words of Mando’a into your sternum. It wasn’t even Mando, the old snarky friend who joked at how bad of a shot you were and who laughs like a complete idiot when he had one too many sips.

It was the Mandalorian, the ruthless and deadly warrior poised and ready to fire you away.

\--

You wake up smelling peaches and blaster smoke.

Shifting to sit up against the wall behind you, you groan at the dull ache in your head and heart. Mando is here with you at the foot of the bed; you’ve memorized the way the bunk feels with or without him. 

“Why are the lights off?” You ask.

“I didn’t know if you were going to wake up with a headache or not.”

_ Of fucking course _ . It drives you insane how considerate he is sometimes.

You suddenly become more alert as you remember, “Aayn’vida, where is she? Is she safe?”

He quells your anxiety immediately, “She’s safe. I took her to her family.”

“And Khan?”

“Cold.”

You feel him shove pills and a bottle of water into your hands. You took them, and as you both waited for the pain in your head to subside, he told you what happened in Jaemai. As it turns out, Aayn’vida’s mother was a doctor for many years, and she was kind enough to check on you and care for your wounds. Khan’s goon nicked your right side; no major organs were hit, but your skin was likely scarred since it was basically singed off. There was another thing, however. Mando had asked her about the constant migraines, “She said that they can happen because of stress or trauma.”

You laughed bitterly, “Well, we both know I have plenty of that.”

Silence blankets you two again. Even in the dark, you can tell when the Mandalorian is uneasy. You wait for him to confess.

“If I’d known this would’ve happened, I would’ve never asked you to come with me,” he lets out a tired sigh, “I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes.  _ Why is he so fucking nice? _

“We’ve been through worse,” you say, a familiar feeling fluttering through your chest, 

“Besides, this just means I’ve rightfully earned my 80%”


	4. tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe you don’t hate him as much as he thinks.
> 
> Maybe you miss him as much as he misses you. Maybe you also long for him in the late hours of the night, replaying moments of your lives together over and over and over in your head. Maybe you didn’t regret taking this job. Maybe, just maybe, you will forgive this broken man and let him in your heart’s home once again."
> 
> Wherein wounds are reopened, split, and burned alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNO THIS TOOK A LONG TIME .. AND I'VE BEEN STARING AT IT FOR HOURS. THANK U ALL FOR BEING SO SO SO PATIENT AND THANK U TO ALL THE PEOPLE WHO LEFT LOVELY COMMENTS ON BOTH TUMBLR N AO3 <3 
> 
> I really really appreciate you guys. As someone who doesn't consider herself a writer by any means, it's nice to know that people enjoy the stories I tell. I had a LOT of trouble with this, but the rest of the story is planned out so I'm hoping there won't be as long a break in between chapters again! we've got about 3 parts left :)) this one is ANGSTY and every one is ANGY
> 
> enjoy, friends!

Detective Ira Volskaya was a shady guy. Incidentally, he was also your client. 

He couldn’t have been much older than you were, but years of police work and crime stopping have weathered him into a brooding, suspicious man with greying hairs and droopy, tired eyes. You and Mando ended up far away from the city center of Coruscant, Volskaya insisting that collection took place in an abandoned warehouse. Judging by how secretive this all was and how strict the detective was on his instructions, you figured that this little exchange wasn’t “in line” with Security Force policy. 

As Mando spoke with Volskaya, you helped unload Khan’s slab onto the docking station for his men to take away. Once they had it down the ramp, you walked over to them, catching his attention.

Taking a puff of his cigarra, he narrows his eyes and nods at you, “She wasn’t with you last time.”

“She’s just–” 

Mando’s head darted between the two of you, hesitating. 

“A coworker,” you cut in sharply. 

The detective pursed his lips in suspicion, but left it alone. Instead, he turned to the briefcase at his feet, handing it over to Mando. As he double checked the amount in the case, your eyes caught Ira’s men loading the carbonite slab onto a speeder. Your mind drifts back to something Mando said on the Slipstream.

_“he’s wanted for running multiple sex trafficking rings throughout the galaxy…”_

You look back at the detective, “What’s going to happen to the rest of Khan’s operation?”

“We’re hoping that his capture will cause a fracture in his little empire. Break up the chain of command and let it die out.”

Volskaya takes another drag and sighs, smoke curling off his lips, “But with the new intel that’s come in, there’s a chance it’ll create a power vacuum. A lot of people wanted him dead. Someone new could easily take his place.”

Your stomach twists as you remember Aayn’vida trembling on the bathroom floor. There are probably still thousands of girls like her, just as scared and helpless. It makes your mouth go sour. 

As if sensing your discomfort, Mando shuts the case abruptly.

“It’s all here. Let’s go.”

You kept repeating to yourself that nothing would satisfy you more than to get off this planet and move on from anything that had to do with Khan Horne. But there was a scathing pull at the back of your mind that tugged with each step closer to the Crest. Your gaze darted between the case in Mando’s hand, the slab on the speeder, and Ira Volskaya’s retreating figure. Furrowing your brows, you rub your fingers on your temple; collecting never felt this complicated. What’s gotten into you? You got your money and the job is done, so why was your brain screaming at you to stop Mando from closing the ramp?

_Someone new… a power vacuum._

“Wait.”

Mando’s gaze turned to you, fingers hovering over his vambrace.

Fumbling over your words, you say something along the lines of stay put and that you’ll be back in a second. Turning back to the warehouse, you jog away from the ship and call,

“Detective!”

He spins on his heel back to you, face twisting in confusion.

Squaring your shoulders and huffing your breath, you say, “Give me a list of everyone who was involved in Khan’s organization.”

He eyes you quizzically, “I thought bounty hunters didn’t ask questions.”

“I’m not asking as a bounty hunter.”

“Then what _are_ you asking as?”

“Someone who can get to them faster than the Security Force can,” You swallow hard, courage pulsing through you, “Someone who can help.”

The detective raises his eyebrows at you, impressed. And then he smiles, throwing his cigarra to the ground and stomping out the ashes beneath his foot. 

\--

Din Djarin was not good enough for you. He didn’t deserve you. This much he knew.

So he let you go.

He really thought he did the right thing. It escalated too quickly after the cockpit and he found himself falling _hard_. What started as relief for sexual tension turned into softer touches, shining smiles, flirtatious jokes that drove him over the edge. 

And then,

_“Do you ever think there’s more to this?”_

He digs his nose into the crook of your neck, arm slung over your bare waist. Half-asleep, dizzy from your warmth, he relishes in the feeling of your body next to his. 

“More to what?”

You let out a gentle sigh, “This life. Hunting. Living out of a tiny, broken ship hopping from planet to planet.”

“Hey, the Crest isn’t _that_ bad.”

You slap him lightly against his chest, “You know what I mean.” 

“What did you have in mind?”

A cottage. The ocean. _Family._

All in the afterglow of a kiss that tasted like peaches. 

Din had a feeling you’ve always wanted more, but this was truly the first time you spoke honestly and truly in length about it. Bounty hunting was rarely ever a sought after profession, and though you were good at your job, he knew it wasn’t something you ever planned on continuing. Twisting a peach pit in your fingers, you admit to him that your life would’ve been completely different without it. You would’ve taken over your father’s orchards and lived in your beautiful family villa, selling fresh fruit to nobles and townspeople alike. Your voice grows wistful as you recount sweet summer days spent chasing your older brother through the fields or weaving baskets with your mother. 

“I wore sundresses, Din.” 

He smiles against the soft skin of your neck and squeezes your thigh gently, “Sounds pretty. You should wear them again.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“Very much so, yes.”

You let out a giggle, shoving him gently. He only held you tighter. A beat of silence passed between you before Din’s hand moved to interlace with yours, face suddenly contorting with unease. 

“What happened?”

“What always happens.” Your shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and you grip his fingers tighter. “I was seventeen when Imps occupied our valley. They wanted to clear the farm for military barracks; when my father refused, they burned everything to the ground in the middle of the night. My brother and I escaped with a few other refugees.”

“And your parents?”

“Firing squad.”

“What about your brother?”

He feels your nails dig further into the crevice of his hand.

“He was stupid enough to join the Resistance. I don’t know where he is, but I’ve assumed the worst already.”

His heart twists in remorse at the hurt in your voice. Removing his hands away from yours, he pulls you in closer, stroking your hair with his calloused fingers and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. In all your years of partnership, Din had never known the full extent of your past, only that you started young doing hits for spice cartels and eventually ending up in the Guild. Before, when he tried to ask why you started so early, your answer was always brief and bitter.

_“There was only so much a girl could do to make money, Mando.”_

The conversation never went further than that. But now, in light of your vulnerability and candor, your questions about the future suddenly made sense. It was never supposed to be this way; your life since adolescence had been solely dictated by fear and the need to survive. When you spoke about it, you sounded exhausted. With the decline of the Empire, how could he blame you for wanting to be _more_ than a war-torn orphan turned ruthless hunter?

The more he thought about it the more it tore him apart. 

Because suddenly he was 11 years old again, watching the carnage of his hometown disappear over the shoulder of a Death Watch soldier. Jarring visions of blood and empty eyes melted in between with hazy memories of happy trips to the market and bedtime stories. It felt like whiplash. The echoes of blaster fire and falling debris were loud enough for him to wake up shaking in a cold sweat. The pounding of his heart sounded a lot like cannon fodder and it was loud enough to give him the headaches you suffered from so often. He was ashamed to say that the only time he really remembered his mother’s face was when she was dead on the ground. But to his horror, in his nightmares, he began to see you instead of her, body lifeless and eyes devoid of any life. Everything he’d been ignoring since his youth, crushed and hidden after swearing the Creed and following the Way of the Mandalore, was suddenly washing over him like ocean waves in a storm. Because, unlike you, this life was so devastatingly simple and comfortable for him. It was almost sacred; he was bound by a near holy doctrine and devoid of emotional attachments. That is, until you came and found home under his skin. He was grieving for you before he even lost you. It was unbearable, filling his lungs and suffocating him until he was gasping for air–

 _“Are you okay?”_ Your drowsy voice whispered beneath him. 

He swallowed hard and pulled you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Go back to sleep, sweet girl.”

Any semblance of a normal life was lost on him. Din knew he couldn’t give you peace he didn’t have. He wanted to, though.

He wished he could gift you every star that shone in the sky. 

Fuck 80%. He’d give you galaxies.

And yet, he _still_ pulled a blaster on you and left you alone – too caught up in _not_ facing his own demons. Din didn’t realize how much of a mistake it was to let you go until he was half-dead, bleeding all over your old bunk. A job went terribly wrong that day. He was ambushed on some godforsaken jungle planet and running on two hours of sleep, dreams plagued with visions of you crying at the foot of the Slipstream. He was so used to having someone cover his blindspots that he made a colossal mistake that nearly cost him his life. No one had his back that day, and was there no one to stitch him up and call him an idiot. 

Existing without you was rougher than he thought it’d be since you’d seeped into every corner of his little life. He couldn’t pass a fruit stand without glancing over for your favorite peaches. When he’d wrangle with tougher bounties, he cursed at how much easier this shit would be if you were there. In the Razor Crest, you’d organized the kitchenette a certain way that Din couldn’t find a pot without tearing it apart, and then he’d wrack his brain to figure out how you organized it so neatly in the first place. He felt a chill when he passed your empty bunk. One day, he found a bottle of your headache medicine in the refresher cabinet. Din kept it. _Just in case._

You were _everywhere_ and yet, you weren’t. 

You ran together for so long that others noticed your disappearance. Even Xi’an. 

“Where’s your little puppy, Mando? She lost?”

He said nothing. 

The Twi’lek moved closer, running a hand up his chestplate, “Or did you leave her behind, too?”

“Don’t,” he seethed. The victory in her eyes was disgusting.

Mayfeld’s teasing voice cut in, “Competition, Xi’an?”

“Hardly,” She gave him a vile smirk, “Did she whine like a bitch when it finally happened?”  
Din was quick to seize her hand away from his body, twisting her forearm near the point of breaking. 

“I said. _Don’t.”_

She only laughed. He wished you were there to wipe that smirk off her face.

It was then that he decided to come and find you. As it turns out, bounty hunters don’t make great parents. The child had just barely survived _again,_ and Din was getting desperate. He’d already lost track of how many times the baby was put in danger, and though he’d been able to keep him alive all these months, Din was definitely _not_ a parent. 

After picking up the most lucrative, non-Guild job he could get, he flew straight to the one person he could truly trust in the universe.

When he saw you tensely poised at the cantina, ten paces felt like ten parsecs.

The first thing he noticed were the strands of grey peeking through your hair and the dark circles beneath your eyes. You were by no means an old woman, but you weren’t getting any younger either. In the state that he left you in, three years had aged you and your fiery spirit. Your once lively, spitfire demeanour was now cold and tired. 

In the beginning of this little reunion, Din was half convinced that he’d made a terrible mistake trying to make amends. He was desperate to be in your good graces. He needed to apologize. beg you. Grovel at your feet. Atone. Do penance. But you’d seem to shut down every time he tried, denying his pitiful apologies and forgoing any pleasantries. The Mandalorian was lost around you.

And then you got shot. 

At that point, Din was positive you were marching straight out of his ship and jetting away in the Slipstream the second this was all over – not before kicking his ass, of course. All the guilt that had consumed him over the years nearly drew him to insanity as he took your limp body from Aayn’vida’s arms, cursing in Mando’a and imploring you to stay awake. Wiping the tears from your eyes and tending to your wound, his thoughts were hysterical. How could he do this to you? Put you through all this trouble only to get shot? And for what? A chance to –

“ _Din?”_

The name fell _so softly_ from your lips. 

“Din, my head– it hurts so much.”

His mouth goes dry. He lets out a shaky breath, overwhelmed and eyes bleary.

“Sssh, lay down _._ You’ll be okay, _cyar’ika_.”

The Mandalorian only ever dreamed about you saying his name again. Upon your reunion, he noticed immediately how unnatural “Mando” sounded in your mouth, even if he’s heard it thousands of times. It stung when you refused to call him anything else. So hearing it whispered in the walls of the Razor Crest again made his heart beat violently in his chest and gave him the smallest sliver of hope.

_Maybe you don’t hate him as much as he thinks._

_Maybe you miss him as much as he misses you. Maybe you also long for him in the late hours of the night, replaying moments of your lives together over and over and over in your head. Maybe you didn’t regret taking this job. Maybe, just maybe, you will forgive this broken man and let him in your heart’s home once again._

\--

“I saw Xi’an again.”

Initiating small talk felt physically painful, but he tried anway. After Jaemai, you seemed to be a little more comfortable speaking freely with him. If you were still angry, you kept it hidden well. Besides, it was hard to be upset with a cute baby on board.

“Really?” You responded with casual interest, attention mostly focused on the child in front of you while Din piloted the ship. 

“Yup,” he said, “She… uh...betrayed me and tried to kill the kid.”

“Sounds like her. Where is she now?”  
“Prison.”

He doesn’t miss the cheeky grin that spreads across your lips. You softly chuckle and take the baby in your arms, cooing to him, “Good riddance, huh? That scary blue lady is gone for good, yeah?”

The kid gurgles in delight when he’s lifted up. Mando watches you lovingly play with the child, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t remember you being so good with kids, but then again, that was a rare opportunity in itself. The thought of you with kids of your own makes his cheeks flush with warmth.

“Where did you even find him?” You ask, bouncing him up and down in his crib.

“Arvala 7. He was the asset.”

You look at him now, puzzled, “The asset? He’s a child!”

“He’s wanted by Imps.”

“Huh.” You hold the child closer to you now, rocking him in your arms. “And you saved him.”

He hummed in confirmation. A beat of silence passes by. 

Mando notes the way the kid stares at you with warm, loving eyes, “He likes you.”

“Yeah?” You look back to the green baby raising him high in the air. His excited laughter is sweet in your ears and you giggle with him.

“Mando’s probably a mess when it comes to you. Probably forgets to feed you, doesn’t he?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s heart flutters all the same. 

Lowering the child back into his pod, the child fusses as you try to get him to settle down. You took the silver ball that was laying in his blanket and placed it in his hands to divert his attention. Din faces back towards the console while you sink into the co-pilot’s seat. Your old seat.

From the corner of his eye, he sees you pulling a data pad from your pack on the floor and plugging in a storage drive. You scroll through droves of information silently while Din keeps his gaze trained on the passing lights of hyperspace. But his curiosity only grew, and he was tired of straining his eyes to slyly look at whatever you were reading. 

“What are you looking at?”

Your eyes don’t meet his, instead continuing to scan over the information before you. “It’s all the people who kept Khan’s ring running.”

“You got this from the detective?”

You nod. 

“Why?”

A long sigh escapes you as you power down the datapad and slip it away.

“I guess you can say I’m retiring.” 

Din’s body is quick to turn to you, “What do you mean?”

“You heard Volskaya, someone is just gonna take his place. There are still plenty of people like Aayn’vida. People who need help.”

Beneath his helm, his face twists in reluctance. He asks, “And you’re gonna do it _alone_?”

You furrow your brows at him, as if the answer was obvious.  
“Looks like it.”

Din straightens up in his seat, stomach turning uneasily. The air in the cockpit was suddenly suffocating, and he sensed your growing ire as you pressed your lips together.

“ _What_?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

You roll your eyes.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Your judgy thing!” 

You point an accusing finger at his form, “The one you do with your face and your shoulders.”

“You can’t even see my face.”

_“Mando.”_

“Alright! It’s just–” he grits, struggling to find the words, “It seems...dangerous.”

“You say that like it makes a difference,” your voice cuts in, sharp like a blade, “do you not think I’m capable on my own?”

“What? No, I–” 

_Kriff,_ why is it so hard to talk to you? Din lets out a huff, scolding himself to get it together.

“Listen, we both know you’re more than capable of handling yourself. But this? This is big shit. Not some bail-skipper or petty thief. You go after them and they’ll be on you for the rest of your life.”

“What _life,_ Mando?” you snapped, “When I was her age, I could’ve easily been one of those girls. Bounty hunting wasn’t a life, it was survival. This is something that’s important.”

“Y/N, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

_“Why does that suddenly matter to you?”_

You both wince at the sharpness of your words and you turn away from him, suddenly embarrassed of your own outburst. Harsh silence blankets you both as you keep your gazes trained forward. The tension in the air is heavy and thick. 

Your tight voice cuts through the quiet with a single question.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He feels like he’s gonna be sick. 

“I–”

A giant crash abruptly resounds through the cockpit, causing the three of you to jerk forward. Alarms uproar through the ship as the two of you scramble into position at the console. Your fingers find the buttons easily, pulling up the radar and scanning the area for the threat.

A comm chimes in, “Give us the child, Mandalorian! It’s no use trying to run.”

“It’s a gunship, coming in from behind us,” you quickly inform, “ _Shit!_ The shields are weak, we need to get out of here now.” 

He nods in agreement, gripping the controls again and lurching the ship forward and speeding off. Your attackers follow in hot pursuit, blasting your ship again. A hit lands, shaking the Crest violently again, earning a strangled cry from behind you.

“Y/N! The baby!” Din grunts, veering the ship back on course.

“Right!” 

You nearly leap from your seat, securing and shushing the panicked child as you close his pram to keep him from falling amidst the chaos. Coming back to the co-pilot’s seat, you curse as you read through the multiple alarms flashing across the ship’s interface.

“Our shields are down, Mando. We need to end this.”

He curses under his breath, weighing their options. They didn’t have enough fuel for a hyperspace jump, nor the time to make any proper calculations. His gaze darts to the green planet approaching up ahead and bites the inside of his cheek. A crash isn’t ideal, but it solves the issue of being stranded in dead space. Another jolt and crash rock the ship forward. 

“Strap in,” He barks at you, “We’re shooting our way out and going for an emergency landing.”  
You nod, securing yourself in your seat and preparing yourself for battle.

\--

“It isn’t the worst planet to get stuck on.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that we’re stuck.”

The two of you stood at the foot of the Razor Crest which was currently smoking and leaking fuel into the forest floor. Though you’d survived the gunfight above, the ship had taken serious damage. The shield generators were nearly destroyed and the repulsor grilles were shot, making it impossible to fly the Crest without spinning off course. Normally, with the help of a mechanic, the job could be done within a matter of days, but you were both stuck in a thick forest with the next town over being at least a day’s walk. Repairs could take at least a week with the spare parts that were already kept in the ship, and traveling into town could easily make it two, assuming they’d even have what you need. This posed 2 issues:

  1. Every day you stayed idle, the higher the risk of another hunter (or worse, an Imperial) turning up and kidnapping the child.
  2. Din had yet to feel the wrath that had been building up inside you for the past three years. If the hunters didn’t shoot him, you definitely would, and you wouldn’t miss.



He takes his gaze off the ship and observes your surroundings. All things considered, it was a pretty nice place. The forest was lush, rife with tall trees and bright flora. The air was fresh and cool, and the whistles of birds carried through the treetops. He was somewhat grateful; you could have easily been stuck in a scorching desert or some awful jungle. Past the clearing–which had inadvertently been made by the ship crash– there was a lake, crystal clear and stretching for miles. If the circumstances were any different, maybe you would have enjoyed yourselves, stopped and admired the scenery together.

But they weren’t.

The fact of the matter is that there’s something acrid that permeated the air between you. Sometimes, he could catch it in the way you looked at him, how your eyes flared with sharp, visceral rage and piercing through his beskar like a hot blade. He saw it in the cantina at your reunion, and he felt it twist his heart during your last exchange before you landed. 

_“Why does it suddenly matter to you?”_

Discussing the rift between you wasn’t a conversation he was eager to have. The attack on the Crest only delayed the inevitable, and now, shipwrecked on an unknown planet, he waited anxiously for the years to catch up on him. Your irritation with him didn’t die when you’d landed; it might’ve actually gotten worse. Every furrow of your brows, every curse under your breath only reminded Din of how much you were dying to say, and it only amplified his dread. But being the practical person you were, you remained focused on survival first, setting up camp and laying out a plan for repairs in the morning. Going into town would have to wait, as you weren’t sure what state the ship would be in after its initial mending. You stayed silent in the hours you both tended to your respective duties and it wasn’t until the late afternoon that he felt your presence once again.

He was in the middle of counting ration packs when you said, “We need firewood. It might be cold tonight.”

Din nodded, but as he watched you begin to walk away into the woods, he couldn’t help but spill the words bubbling in his throat. 

“About what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he stood to his full height, “You’re–you’re right. It’s not my business anymore.”

You didn’t respond to him for a moment; your expression, frozen and unreadable. Your gaze tears away from him to look down at the toes of your shoes, and he hears you let out a dejected, breathy laugh as you shook your head. 

“You know what I don’t get?” You ask, cynicism dripping from your lips, “You never answered my question on the ship.”

Din clenches his fists, nausea suddenly returning to him.

“Khan wasn’t a hard job. You could’ve easily caught him without me, so why? Why did you bring me? Why did you find me?”

“I couldn’t go into the terminal without attracting attention.”

“No, but you could’ve waited for him to move. Tracked him somewhere else,” your tone grows more clipped by the second, “I know you. You’re the best in the parsec and you would’ve found him. I might’ve gotten shot, but there were way harder quarries than him.”

When he still doesn’t answer, you march forward, fuming with indignation.

_“For once, can you just tell me the truth?”_

Din’s heart was nearly bursting out of his chest, anxiety rippling through him as he confessed.

“I need help,” he croaks, nearly cringing at the weakness and desperation in his tone, “with him.”

He beckons over to the child, carelessly toddling along the floor. Din watches your expression soften with pity as you watch him play. 

“I don’t...I don’t know what I’m doing,” He continues, “I’m so confused and–and lost. I worry about him all the time. He’s always in danger. I’ve tried to give him a home, somewhere safe. But the Empire won’t stop until they find him.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one I trust in this universe.”

Din waits for your answer with bated breath, drinking in every reaction. You looked pained, fingers finding their way to the bridge of your nose, pressing hard and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“And I’m supposed to trust _you_ in return?”

Once again, he doesn’t respond, fearing that he’d only make the situation worse.

“You know I can’t do this.”

You cross your arms, hugging your body as you turn away from the kid to face him. He feels his heart sink, distress clawing away at him. I _need you; I can’t lose you again. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you._

“Could you at least think about it?”

“ _I can’t,_ ” you say sternly, “I’m sorry about the kid, but I know you can figure something out. I’m not the right person, and you need to find someone else.”

 _You are. More than right. More than I deserve._  
“I don’t know who else I can turn to.”  
“Mando, you don’t understand,” your voice turns angry once again, “I can’t live everyday not knowing if you’re gonna stick around or not.”

“Things are different, Y/N. I’m not going to leave.”

“Why? Because you have a baby to take care of, you’re suddenly willing to stick around? What happens if things get serious? What is keeping you from walking out tomorrow? A few weeks from now? Are you gonna leave me without a ship this time? Shoot me if I don’t cooperate?”

 _Stop stop stop stop ._ He raises his voice, not in ire but in desperation, “This isn’t about us, this is about him!”

“It’s _always_ going to be about us!” Din is stunned to silence as your eyes turn glossy and red with tears, “And after everything, I–I can’t _trust_ you. I mean– _kriff–_ you left me in the worst way possible. You only offered me a job because you _knew_ I wouldn’t have listened to you in the first place, didn’t you?”

His shoulders go rigid, head dipping in shame.

You scoff, sucking in a deep, shaky breath before you go on, “We can’t act like nothing ever happened and just push it aside for the kid; it’s _always_ going to be there. Every time we speak, every time I look at you I–”

You cut yourself off, hesitating to finish your thought. Running your fingers through your hair, you tug at it at it as you let out yet another frustrated huff, “I spent three years of my miserable life trying to figure out what I did wrong. If you can tell me _right now_ what was going through your head that day, then _maybe_ I’ll consider staying. But if you can’t, you need to find someone else.”

The words are there, but get caught in his throat. He’s terrified; speaking them aloud might just rip him in half, but if he doesn’t, he loses you a second time. But they don’t come; they linger and fester and rot on his tongue, and he can only clench his fists harder at his own cowardice.

The way you look at him is soul crushing. 

“I thought so.”

You pick up your pack and sling it over your shoulders, skulking into the woods without another word.

\--

You didn’t come back for hours. Night fell across the forest as Din paced outside the Razor Crest, playing out your conversation in his head over and over again until it made him dizzy. His gut was filled with dread as each minute passed by, and he couldn’t figure out if he wanted you to come back at all. It wasn’t until he heard a soft whine from the floating pram that he realized that so much time had passed. Din nearly forgot to feed the child his own hysteria.

“Hey, little womp rat,” he sighed, gently picking him up, “She’s right, huh? I really am a mess.”

The baby’s big glossy eyes stare up at him as if sensing Din’s unease. His tiny hands grab at the thick cloak around his neck, pulling himself upwards and nuzzling his face in between his neck and his pauldron. _Is he… comforting me?_

Something forms at the base of his throat as he croaks a gentle, “Thanks, kid.”

But this quiet moment of peace is interrupted at the cracking sound of a stick. He stills, listening further as footsteps grow louder and louder. His blaster is out and aimed behind him before he can even think to look. He whips around, clutching the baby closer to him only to see you abruptly dropping the chopped wood in your hands to the floor. The baby begins to cry at the sudden shift in movement.

He relaxes, letting his arm fall to his side but not holstering his blaster. Instead, he gently bounces the child in his other arm in an attempt to soothe him.

“It’s okay. It’s just Y/N,” he says softly. When Din looks back to you, you’re still frozen on the spot. His brows furrow beneath his helmet.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You stutter, “Can you put that _fucking_ thing away, please?”

He looks at the child, and back to you. A flare of irritation ignites in his chest.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Every time you point you point it at me, I expect you to pull the trigger.”

_Oh. Shit._

Guilt pierces through his chest. He quickly slips it back into his holster

“I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you,” he apologizes. You’re still unmoving, looking at him as if he’d just burned you.

“Y/N, you know I would never–“

“But you were going to.”

“Not even then.”

As Din begins to walk forward, he notices the way your body shakes violently. His hand gingerly goes to rest against your arm to comfort you, but you tear yourself away from him, wrapping inward as you seethe.

_“Don’t. Touch. Me.”_

The look in your eyes makes Din’s blood run cold. Your pointed stare was piercing and hot and raw. It seared and flared with white hot wrath. Your breathing was ragged, chest heaving up and gasping for air. _There it is._

The visceral rage and contempt you held for him had finally surfaced. It festered and boiled over, consuming you to the point where Din thought you would’ve killed him on the spot. But then, revulsion contorts your face, and you quickly shove past him, leaving him paralyzed in your wake. You disappear behind the Crest, and he hears you dropping to the ground.

He winces at the sound of you heaving the contents of your stomach into the lake. 

Din sets the baby down into his carrier, and quickly rounds the corner of the ship to see you on your hands and knees at the edge of the water. 

He’s speechless. The only words he could manage sounded disgustingly miserable from his vocoder.

_“I’m so sorry.”_

You sniffle as you drag yourself up from the ground. You don’t turn around to face him. 

“You don’t have to tell me why you left. Even if I deserve an explanation,” you say, voice strained and pathetic.

“Because when this is all over, I don’t ever want to see you again. Keep your money and your jobs. I don’t care if it pays enough for ten lifetimes. If you ever try to find me, I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mando rly needs to learn basic gun safety :/
> 
> thanks 4 stopping by!  
> see u space cowboys <3


	5. relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you love him?”
> 
> You freeze, heart pounding loudly in your chest at the thought. You know the answer, but you’re terrified to speak it aloud, as if Mando could hear you utter it into the universe.
> 
> Where you find the strength to feel it all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have much to say but .... thank u all SOSOSO much for ur comments on part 4 :')))  
> rly glad u guys are enjoying this story aaaaaaa <3 <3

_ “I’m going on ahead.”  _

_ “Well, I’m not coming with you.” _

_ He scrunches his nose, nostrils flaring. You refuse to look him in the eye. _

_ “Seriously?” _

_ You pick at the threads in the thin blanket on your legs with your nails. He’s fully dressed, standing in the doorway of your tiny dwelling. You’re still in your cot, your last chance to flee with him slipping away with every string you pull. But fear claws at your insides, paralyzing you in your spot. You hear him shuffle, kneeling beside the bed and forcing you to meet his gaze. _

_ “Please, help me stop them,” he pleads. _

_ Your lip quivers, tears threatening to spill over. He’s such a beautiful boy. You loved and loathed his courage; Luca was always braver than you were, fighting off bullies in the schoolyard and sneaking out after dark. He was the first one to defy the Moff when he showed up at your doorstep, and he was the quickest to arm when they came blasters ablazing. But while Luca had moved forward ready to enact his revenge, you were still stuck in front of your burning home, heat blistering against your skin and pathetic tears streaming down your face. You’re still frozen at the other end of a blaster, cowering on your knees before a man clad in black. You’re still being ushered away down the country road with your brother, two very distinct shots ringing through your ears.  _

_ But Luca doesn’t understand.  _

_ “We’ll die, just like them.” _

_ “Don’t you want to die fighting?” _

_ You tear a hole in your blanket. _

_ “I don’t want to die at all, Luca.” _

\--

You haven’t spoken to him in days. 

It was quite impressive, really.

Ever since your breakdown, you denied yourself any sort of contact with the Mandalorian, bitterness and hurt still raw every time you looked at him. At first, he tried to get you to respond to him, prodding with simple questions and painfully awkward small talk. But when his one-sided conversations were only met with more eerie silence, Mando took the hint and stopped trying altogether. You didn’t spend too long in the same space with him either; you made sure to work on opposite sides of the ship. Shifts were still maintained at night to watch over your camp while the other slept; but when it was his turn to take over, you only woke him with a wordless shove and quickly slipped into your bunk to get your share of rest.

Sleep never came.

Instead, you aimlessly tossed on the mattress for hours and hours on end, mind torn over the man standing outside your door. You loathed him, you were sure of it. He hurt you, more than anyone ever had. Took everything and crushed it beneath his boots. Then had the audacity to come back and ask for a favor. It was time to just let it all go; to push it far behind you and go on forward with your heart guarded and barred from the rest of the universe. To live and die alone. 

So why was the thought of never seeing him again making your chest tighten with agony?

You dug your face into your pillow a few times, letting out guttural, violent screams of frustration until your voice nearly gave out.

_ You should be angry with him. He left, he left, he left. _

_ Just like Luca. _

In those solitary hours, you thought a lot about your brother, and how painfully similar this all felt: The resentment that festered in your bones clashing with the deep love and care that resided in your heart. You didn’t want to forgive, but living with these thorns in your side was so  _ fucking  _ exhausting. You wondered if the universe doomed you from birth, never destined for a moment of peace. The warring feelings within you made it impossible to sleep easy, and soon enough, the sun would come up. Mando would be outside rapping on your door and you’d start the day over again.  _ Rinse and repeat. _

By the fourth day, the lack of sleep had caught up to you. 

Precariously perched on top of a ladder, you took the day to work on the repulsor grilles. Your mind was in a daze. You struggled to figure out which parts go where, and your hands were so clumsy you kept losing your tools to the small slot you’d been tinkering with. After dropping your screwdriver for what seemed to be the  _ seventh  _ time today, you were so fed up that any caution was thrown into the wind. Hot metal and active wires were the least of your worries as you carelessly shoved your hand down the slot for your lost tool. Your fingers grazed the handle, but as you shifted to get a better angle, you felt a burning shock shoot through your arm. You all but ripped your hand from the slot, wincing as you feel something tear at your palm. Your sudden movement was enough to drive the ladder toppling over. Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced for impact. You hear a low grunt as your body collides into Mando’s, strong arms quickly wrapping around your waist to steady you. Your cheeks grow hot at the feeling of him, and for a moment, your body pleads to stay in his arms just a little longer.

“Are you okay?” the low timbre of his voice brings you back from your panic. 

You quickly push off of him but hiss at the searing pain radiating from your hand. Turning over your palm, you grimace at the big nasty gash that gushes down your forearm with blood. Mando grips your shoulder and spins you around, trying to take your injured hand. 

“Let me see.” 

“I’m fine.” 

You recoil, holding your palm close to your chest and bleeding all over your shirt. Impatient, he goes in to grasp your wrist and wrestles with you again. 

_ “Will you quit being difficult and hold still?” _ he growls, voice devoid of any softness. The edge in his voice makes you freeze. It’s the first time on this journey that he spoke so firmly with you. Too tired to fight, you let him take your hand into his and study your injury. 

“Sit,” He lets go of your hand and gestures to the ground. “You’re going to need stitches. And then you’re going to rest. I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I’m fine,” you grit.

“It  _ wasn’t _ a suggestion,” he chided harshly, as if lecturing a child, “I don’t need someone wrecking my ship more than it already has. You can work when you’re capable.”

He briskly storms back into the ship to grab the medpack, effectively ending your spat. Collapsing to the ground, you curse under your breath in irritation as you stare at your stinging cut. A piercing ache begins to radiate in your temples and weariness starts to settle into your bones. You’re  _ so  _ tired. The emotional turmoil of the past week had sucked every drop of energy you had left, and you were left feeling like you’d been hit with a landspeeder. 

A worried coo draws you from your thoughts, and the child looks up at you expectantly. 

“Hey, little guy,” you said, patting his head lightly with your free hand. He gingerly toddles to your thigh and tilts his head at your bloody palm. The kid begins to fuss, gurgling as he claws at the side of your leg. You scoop him up into your lap, and he settles down, satisfied.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” 

Then, he closes his eyes and holds his hand out, hovering over yours. You feel the flesh on your wound begin to  _ move.  _ Your gash is closing before your eyes and the skin is completely healed, as if it was never there at all. You pressed your fingers into your palm; the burning pain had subsided and the skin beneath it was completely smooth. Brows furrowed, your eyes dart from your hand to the child, his eyes slowly drooping closed. Your mind is racing. You hear Mando shuffle back out from the Crest, quickly dropping beside you and checking your hand.

You’re both stunned to silence as the child in your lap falls fast asleep.

\--

Early mornings in the forest were cold.

You’d been shivering in front of the fire for a few hours now, wrapped in a threadbare blanket you’d taken from your bed. You stared pensively at your palm, gently tracing your fingers over where a cut should’ve been. With a sigh, you hug your legs to your chest, and rest your forehead on your knees. After the child healed your injury, you thought your shock would’ve kept you from getting rest, but you slipped into sleep the second your head hit your pillow. You woke up later in the middle of the night, insisting to trade shifts with Mando. 

“I doubt you want a repeat of yesterday,” you told him, “Go to bed.”

In all honesty, you needed the early hours of dawn to collect yourself as your mind was all over the place. Between the mysterious child, your clashing feelings for your partner and your impulsive career change, your life had seemed to unravel in the span of a week. You thought of the way he spoke to you the day before; he was quick to care for you, but his voice was emotionless and cold. It sounded very similar when he left all those years ago. You know he only means to keep distance between you and respect your wishes. After all,  _ you  _ were the one who wanted to separate for good after this mission, but the ache in your heart told you otherwise.

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you could only come to a single conclusion: 

the Mandalorian had successfully derailed your life yet again.

The cry of an animal pulls you from your brooding and you’re swift on your feet with a vibroblade in hand. Stalking around the trees, you keep low in the foliage and slowly move towards the source of the noise. You see a fathier standing on the main trail hooked to a lopsided wooden wagon. Fruit and vegetables were spread all around the road along with a broken wheel. An old man rounded the corner, looking tiredly around him and began picking up the mess. The grip on your blade relaxes. Standing to your full height, you walk forward to meet him on the main path.

“Excuse me, sir,” you call to him, “Do you need help?”

He gawks at you, obviously not expecting anyone to be in the forest. He gives you a smile.

“That is very kind of you. Thank you, child.”

You learn that his name is Amir. He’s a farmer with fields down the road, and for the past 50 years, he’d make the trip every weekend into town to sell his harvest on the same wagon. He tells you how the fathier lost control, pulling the old carriage and damaging the wheel. 

“I suppose I must invest in those blasted speeder-whatevers,” he sighs. 

You chuckle lightly. He sounds like your father. 

“Please, let me fix it for you.”

Amir sits on a rock to the side of the trail, and you try your best to repair the wagon. Making light conversation with him as you work, you spoke of your own family’s orchard and recounted the times you spent on the farm. His company relaxes you and for a moment, you’re able to forget the chaos that consumed your thoughts earlier. 

“It’s hard work, this life,” he says, “but it is fruitful all the same.”

You laugh earnestly at his joke. He smiles at you warmly, patting his hands on his knees. 

“Where is your family now?”

“They were lost to the Empire. Our farm was burned down.” 

He sighs sadly, “War seems to take from us both. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Please, don’t be. It happened a long time ago,” you say quickly.

A beat of awkward silence passes. Amir changes the subject.

“So what are you doing here? In these woods. You look less like a farm girl and more like a mercenary.”

“Close. I’m a bounty hunter. Our ship crashed just past those trees.”

“You’re with someone else?”

“Yes. A Mandalorian. He’s–” you pause, thinking carefully over your words, “He’s just an old colleague of mine.”

But Amir is a very observant man, and he notices your hesitation.

“Tell me more about this Mandalorian of yours. I’ve never met one before.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” you say sheepishly, “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“A long story?” He questions, mischief flashing in his eyes, “I thought he was _ just a colleague _ .”

Warmth travels to your cheeks as he looks at you expectantly.

_ Cheeky old bastard. _

But you indulge him, giving him a watered-down version of your history with Mando; how you met, how you worked together for many years before you parted ways, and how he came back asking you to help with his weird magical son. Amir listened intently, and when you finished, his face was pulled in thought.

“It’s a bit odd for a bounty hunter to have a child, isn’t it?” He wonders aloud, “I take it isn’t the safest profession in the world. I could see how he could need the help.”

You chew on your bottom lip, attention focused on twisting a screw. 

“We... didn’t split on the best terms. It wouldn’t be good for the baby.”

“I see.”

Amir notes your sudden change in demeanor, observing the way you tensed at the subject. 

“Did you love him?”

You freeze, heart pounding loudly in your chest at the thought. You know the answer, but you’re terrified to speak it aloud, as if Mando could hear you utter it into the universe.

So you answered him honestly.

“I’m angry with him.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. 

“My dear, you can be angry with someone and still love them.” 

_ What a nosy man.  _

You shrug laughing lightly with him as you go back to work. As you mull over his words, you find them resonating deep within you. Had it been anyone else, you probably would’ve ignored or straight-up denied the question, but connecting with Amir had made you feel comfortable to speak freely. It felt cathartic to put your feelings into words. 

“You know, Imperial soldiers occupied the town for many, many years. My daughter decided to join the rebellion after she joined the local militia. We got into a terrible argument, begged her not to fight, to stay home but–” Amir struggles to finish. You’d stopped your tinkering with the wheel, instead listening carefully to his story. Your heart twisted, as the grief he felt was very familiar. You reached out to hold his wrinkled hand, giving him a sad smile. 

Amir takes a breath, looking wistfully towards the treetops as he continues,

“Sometimes, when people hurt us, we think we want nothing more to do with them. But when they’re gone, we only regret the love we never spoke out loud.”

\-- 

Din thought he was dreaming when he woke up to the smell of cooking food. 

When he left the Razor Crest, you were feeding the child a small bowl of sautéed vegetables and rice. To the side of the camp, he spotted bags of fresh produce and grain. You greet him with a relaxed grin.

“You know, some of the things you’ve kept in there haven’t been touched since we split. It was kind of disgusting.”

He’s  _ so _ confused.

“Where did you get all of this?” He asks.

“There was a man who broke down on the side of the road. I helped fix his wagon and he gave us food in return.”

You pat the child’s head as he finishes up his meal and take him into one arm. Din only stares, bewildered, as you pick up a dish that was sitting by the fire pit and hold it out to him. 

“Eat. And when you’re done, come find me,” you say, “We need to talk.”

\--

_ “We need to talk.” _

Words stronger than any weapon. 

Anxiety churned in his stomach, nearly rendering him incapable of keeping any food down. But your cooking was leagues better than any ration pack that he’d had in weeks; Din wasn’t about to (literally) throw the opportunity away, especially if this was some of the last moments he’d ever have with you. He ate slowly, savouring every bite, heart warming at the way you made it especially spicy for him. From the window of the cockpit, Din watched you leisurely skip rocks across the water while the child excitedly wandered along the shore. It was almost unsettling how quickly your energy had changed within a day; it reminded him of the days before he left. The days where there wasn’t a giant rift between you. 

When he finished his meal, Din rounded the corner of the ship expecting to see you at the shore, but you were nowhere to be found. He approached the edge of the water and stared at the abandoned pile of smooth stones. The next thing he knew, he was being roughly tugged by his arm and thrown flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him.  He gasped, chest heaving for air and adrenaline coursing through his veins. As he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, you meandered into his view.  He expected to see your face contorted with rage once again, but to his surprise, your expression was cool and collected as you pulled at the wraps around your hands. 

“We’re gonna spar,” you say, tone suspiciously even, “And you’re gonna tell me  _ everything  _ about the kid.”

Din stares, bewildered as you tower over him.

“Why?”

You still don’t look at him directly, instead tugging tightly at the cloth against your wrist and checking if you’re satisfied with your work. 

“If memory serves me correctly, we’re still evenly matched. 350 to 350,” you say, not even bothering to address the second part of your demands. 

But Din will take whatever you give him at this point, so he complies and swipes at your ankles with his legs, knocking you down. Taking the opportunity to get back onto his feet, he squares himself into position. You propel yourself back to your feet with much more grace, brushing yourself off and bringing up your fists. Din swears he can see faint lines of a smile on your lips and a glint of excitement in your eyes.

“Don’t hold back. Even if I’m mad at you.”

He smirks. 

_ “Never.” _

\--

You were always better at close combat than he was; the nature of your preferred weapon required so. But what Din lacked in skill, he made up for in stamina, and that’s why he was able to keep your little competition even for such a long time. Your fight had been going for nearly an hour, and at this point, you’d normally tire out and start getting sloppy from exhaustion. But your residual feelings of frustration and dream of kicking his ass for the past three years kept you fierce on your toes. It also helped that he had a story to tell. 

You listened attentively as Mando told you of the Mudhorn in between your relentless assault of jabs and kicks, how the child used his strange powers to lift a giant beast and how it was unlike  _ anything  _ he’d ever seen before. He also told you how he actually delivered the kid to the client, but turned back to rescue him before the Imperials had a chance to do any harm. (You noted how his voice dipped slightly in shame admitting this to you.) He told you of Sorgan, Tatooine and his reunion with Ran, and how no matter what system he seemed to end up in, the child was always in danger. As you processed this information, your attention seemed to slip, and Mando was able to throw a punch straight into your nose. 

You stumble backwards, cursing at the pain and feeling warm liquid pooling on your upper lip. He relents for a moment, pacing towards you in worry.

“ _ Shit,  _ I’m sorry–” 

You cut him off by gripping his arm, using his momentum to drive him over your shoulder and throw him on his stomach. Pressing your boot into his back and pinning him firmly against the ground, you tease.

“Not the first time I had you like this, Mando.”

You keep your foot firm against him as he struggles to push himself up against you, heavy breaths crackling through the vocoder of his helmet. Eventually, he relents and holds up his hands in surrender.

Pride blooms warmly in your chest, and you collapse on the ground next to him.

_ I nearly broke one of his ribs this time.  _ You’re dizzy as you come down from the high of adrenaline coursing through you, exhaustion settling into your sore body. 

“If I sustain another injury on this stupid mission, I’m taking all the credits for myself,” you say, wiping the blood gushing from your nose. 

You hear him chuckle lightly beside you.

“You deserve it. I’ve been a total ass.”

“That, you have.” 

Catching your breath, you focus on the sounds of birds in the trees, and the feeling of wind cooling and relaxing your body. It was  _ so tempting _ to just give into him, but you remembered what you called him here for– why you initiated a duel in the first place. The talk with Amir this morning helped clear your head, but it still terrified you to address it all. 

You take a deep breath, basking a little longer in this moment of peace. 

“Thanks for not holding back,” you said earnestly, pointing to your nose.

Standing up and brushing the dirt from your clothes, you turn to him and hold out a hand.

“Are we good?” he asks, hope slipping through his voice.

“No. Not even close,” your lips curl into a sad smile, “But it’s a start.”

You pull him up to his feet, and your grasp on one another lingers for a fleeting moment. You’re the first to let go, brushing your sweaty palms against your pants. Walking to the shore of the lake, you take a few rocks in your hands and continue skipping them across the still surface of the water. Your heart is racing; you feel his gaze on you, expectant for …  _ something, anything.  _

“When my brother left to become a rebel,” you began, voice taught with anxiety, “I was only 18 years old. For a long time, I was so angry with him. Who leaves their only family behind? Alone? To fend for themselves? I was–I was convinced I didn’t care what happened to him after that. That I hated him. ”

Something painful catches in your throat. You skip another rock.

“We were  _ so  _ young. He wanted to take me with him, y’know? Find the Moff that killed our family and get revenge. Destroy the Empire and end their reign of terror. I was too afraid; all I could think about living to see another day. But after a while, I missed him  _ so much– _ I just wanted my family again. I started to regret not going with him, but then I met you.”

Mando didn’t respond, listening carefully and hanging on your every word. 

“And when you came along, it felt... nice to let someone in again. Not just as a coworker but as a friend. To not be alone. To have someone in my life. To– ”

_ To fall deeply, wholly, and beautifully in love _ .

Frustrated, you grip the smooth stone in your hand tightly. You feel like you’re rambling; there’s just  _ so much. _

Mando finally speaks, “Y/N, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m still hurt and angry,” your voice was beginning to tremble, “That being abandoned for a second time was the worst feeling in the galaxy. I need you to know that.”

You hear him walk towards you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“ _ Mesh’la,  _ please look at me,” he pleads.

“But I also need you to know that if I left things like this, I’d never find peace.”

You turn around to face him, tears in your eyes and heart leaping in your throat.

“Because there was a time where I thought I’d know you forever. And I don’t want to let it go.” 


	6. vertigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You never liked being angry with him and now you understood why; it always took so much energy. It kept your heart in a perpetual state of tension, and you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to cry or scream. It has you wondering, how did you keep that up for three damn years?"
> 
> Where it converges slowly and comes back together, little by little.

_ “I’m gonna fucking die.” _

_ “Quit being dramatic.” _

_ “It’s hot.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Mando?” _

_ “What.” _

_ “We’re lost.” _

_Din’s jaw clenches, and he briefly looks over his shoulder to shoot you a cold glare._ _You two had been hiking all day, getting lost in twisting canyons in the high desert heat and bickering with each other about which way was north. Din insisted this was a faster way through and it would be easier to catch the bounty off guard on the other side. You, however, were adamant on the fact that the old woman in the cantina warned you of the thick forest nested in the valley, and that many had gotten lost trying to travel to the other side. He ultimately got his way, but the further you two crept into the chasm, the more disoriented you became. That, combined with the blazing heat on your skin, made for a very bitter argument in which you both came to a steely silence for a few miles._

_ A few hours later, the sky had just begun to dip below the horizon, and you stopped in your tracks at a faint crashing sound in the distance.  _

_ “Hey, do you hear that?”  _ _   
_ _ Startled at the sudden call of your voice, he whipped to you and tilted his head curiously. Din stills and watches as you crane your neck to hear where the noise is coming from. You completely ignore his calls to you when you shuffle off path into a thicket of trees and rocks. Din huffs in frustration and begrudgingly follows behind you, cursing under his breath at the fact that the bounty is probably long gone by now and that he’s gonna chew your ear off for wasting more time. _

_ But the words die on his tongue when he sees you in awe of a towering, roaring waterfall cascading into a crystal clear pool at your feet. Trees surround the small shore, and wild grass and weeds sprout in patches along the smooth sand. The air was cool and crisp, and if he strained his ears, Din could hear birds fluttering amongst the treetops. _

_ It was an oasis, probably untouched for decades, and you’d inadvertently found it by getting lost. _

_ “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  _

_ A tender feeling bloomed in his chest when you turned and gave him an excited smile. In an instant, all of the arguing and nonsense from earlier had melted away. It was an image he’d commit to memory: the sight of you smiling beautifully in this hidden desert paradise.  _

_ “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, it is.” _

_ It was also the perfect place to set up camp. Seeing as you could barely navigate the forest in the day, you both knew you couldn’t continue your trek through the night, so you settled down in a clearing beneath a few trees and right off the side of the shore. Dusk had started to fall by the time you were all set up. As Din stoked the flames of the small fire, he caught you casually stripping in the corner of his eye, breath hitching at the sight of your bare skin. _

_ “What are you doing?” He asks dumbly. _

_ “Washing off,” you say “Why? Wanna join me?” _

_ You neatly fold your pants and put them on a mossy rock, leaving you only in your underwear and bandeau. _

_ “Tempting, but I’m good.” _

_ “Suit yourself.” _

_ Din continues uselessly poking at the fire as he tries his best not to stare. Even if he’s had sex with you and seen you naked on multiple occasions, it’s instinct to respect your privacy. But he’ll still catch glimpses of you splashing around in his peripheral. The curve of your ass, your hair, the contours of your stomach...Maker, you were so fucking pretty.  _

_ “Having fun there, Mando?” _

_ Din scoffs and stands up, striding over to the edge of the water.  _

_ “I’m fine, you?” _

_ “It’s nice. You should come in with me.”  _

_ “Not in this, I can’t,” he gestures to his beskar. _

_ “C'mon,” you croon. A devilish smile spreads across your lips as you bend down and lightly splash him with a little bit of water.  _

_ “Don’t start.” _

_ You don’t listen, sending another splash at his legs. _

_ “Y/N.” _

_ Another splash, and he’s suddenly wading through the pool to get to you. You squeal as Din scoops you up into his arms and holds you close to him. _

_ “You gonna behave for me now, mesh’la?” _

_ You giggle against him as you say, “No.” _

_ “Wrong answer.” _ _   
_ _ He all but throws you back into the water like a damn fish. _

_ But you emerge laughing happily, wading back to the shore with a goofy look on your face.  _

_ Back at the camp, you’re both by the fire, basking in each other’s company. While you lay spread out on your side, propped up on your elbow on top of his cape, Din is sat up against a boulder. He listens to the sounds of the canyon–the waterfall roaring in the back, the crack of the fire, the rustle of the wind in the trees– and nearly dozes off until you say, _

_ “We should just stay here. Screw the bounty, let’s just be desert hermits.” _

_ “And what? Live off bugs and tiny fish?” _

_ “I mean...yeah. That sounds perfect.”  _

_ You look at him fondly from your place on the ground, and he taps your nose. You don’t know it, but he’s giving you that same lovestruck look. It does sound perfect, running off into the woods with you. Stupid, but perfect. _

_ Your expression suddenly turns remorseful; with your free hand, you grab his on his lap. _

_ “Hey um– I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be angry with you.” _

_ In all honesty, he’d completely forgotten that you’d fought at all. Din intertwined his fingers with yours, and held it reassuringly. _

_ “Don’t worry about it,” he apologizes, “I’m sorry, too. It was my fault we got lost in the first place.” _

_ “Yeah, but look what we found,” you gesture to the oasis around you, “This is worth something, right?” _

_ He nods and you grace him with another sweet smile. _

_ “I don’t like being mad at you… Din.” _

_ He knows that his name still feels unfamiliar on your tongue, but his heart still skips a beat whenever you say it. _

_ “I don’t either.” _

_ You sit up from your place on his cloak, and he flushes with heat as you crawl onto his lap and straddle his legs, hand still in yours. _ _   
_ _ “Then, let’s just–let’s try not to destroy each other, okay? _

_ “Okay.” _

_ \-- _

_ The fire had already died down, embers dusting bright against the black wood. Night had settled over the canyon, the only light now being the glow of the stars and moon above. Your soft, heady moans echo off the cavern walls as he guides your hips up and down his cock. You bury your face into his neck and nip at the small sliver of skin just below his jaw. Din grunts and grinds into you, dizzy at good you feel against him, and then he hears you mumble something into his shoulder. _

_ “What did you say?” _

_ It was hard to hear you over the sound of rushing water. You pull yourself away and meet him with a nervous stare, gazing at him directly in the eye through his visor. Din straightens himself up, gripping your waist tighter in worry. _

_ “Hey, what’s wro–” _

_ “I want to see you, Din.” _

_ His stomach flips. Panic starts to settle in and he shifts under you. Your hands caress the sides of his helmet and his arms quickly go to your wrists out of instinct, but you don’t move any further. _

_ “Relax, it doesn’t have to be now,” you assure him, but he still remains tense, “Or tomorrow, or three years down the road...Or… Or ever.” _

_ You pause for a moment, and Din looks at you in awe.  _

_ “I know it’s too much to ask, but I need you to know that I want to. One day. If you’d let me.” _

_ He would. When that day would come, who knows.  _

_ But he would. You kiss the forehead of his helmet and his eyes fall shut, holding you closer. _

_ \-- _

_ So... forever, huh? _

The word bounced and echoed in his ears. You thought you’d know him forever. A life where he’d see you every single day until you returned to the earth you stood upon…. And he took that away from you.

Din was stunned into silence, the weight of your honesty pulling at his chest. You watch him with bleary eyes, expectant for his response.

“Was I stupid enough to think you wanted it too?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“No, absolutely not.”

His hand gingerly travels from your shoulder down to yours, taking a loose hold of your palm. He expects you to pull away, but you don’t. To his surprise, you grip ever so slightly tighter.

“So why did we let it fall apart?”

“Don’t think for a second that any of this is your fault.”

“Then what was it?” 

He doesn’t respond and you scoff, irritation pulling at your features.

“Mando, you’ve gotta give me  _ something.  _ I’m trying to be fair but–”

“I screwed it all up with you,” he interrupts, “Let you go when I shouldn’t have. I–”

Din stills, once again paralyzed at the thought of spilling out his heart to you. The words swell in his throat and sit heavy behind his teeth. He squeezes your hand, telling himself to  _ be brave  _ and  _ just spit it out already _ because if he doesn’t do it now, he probably never will.

He pulls and you follow, sitting yourselves down on a rock next to the still water. He keeps your hand in his, and takes a deep breath. 

“I don’t remember what my family looks like,” he begins, “I remember being with them. I remember what it was like to go to markets, to be in our house, but every time I try to picture their faces, I can’t seem to piece it all together.”

You don’t say anything, now listening intently. It’s strange– damn near uncomfortable– to have this conversation in the daylight, considering these kinds of talks have only existed in the safety and darkness of the Crest.

Din continues.

“When I was taken in as a foundling, I didn’t want a new family. I thought I didn’t need one, and I denied myself from one for a long, long time. But when you talked about leaving it all behind and starting your own, I–uh–I couldn’t help wanting to be the one you did it with.” You shuffle in your spot, heat rising to your cheeks. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I suddenly had something to lose. That it would be easier to let the dream go before I lost it all over again.”   
You furrow your brows and ask, “So you left?”

He bites his lip and nods.

“It was selfish– _ I  _ was selfish. I convinced myself it was easier this way, that you’d be better off with someone who could give you what you wanted.”

“And  _ you _ couldn’t?”

“At the time, no.”   
You nod slowly, soaking up his words. Your gaze travels down to your intertwined hands, and you don’t look at him when you ask, “Why’d you pull a blaster on me? Sure, you wanted to push me away but why’d it have to be like...that?”

Din clenches around your fingers, swallowing hard and answering earnestly.

“It’d be easier if you hated me.”

Your eyes shut tight and he can tell you’re struggling to keep your composure.

“That’s stupid,” you say sardonically, “And it obviously didn’t work. You just broke my heart.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. For everything. For me.”

Din has said the words more times than he can count in the past few days, but it’s only now that he feels them carry any real weight. He watches you stew over his words, taking long heavy sighs and brushing your fingertips over your temples. Your face remained as still as it could, hiding your true feelings under the mask of heavy concentration.  _ A trick I picked up from you, actually,  _ you once said.

When you finally speak, your eyes meet his visor once again.

“So what now?”

Din tilts his head, confused.

“You said ‘at the time,’ you couldn’t give me what I wanted,” you explain, “But what about now? Where do we go after this?”

He ponders over the question, looking off into the distance where he sees the child splashing along the lakefront. Then, he remembers something you said a few days ago.

_ “It’s always going to be about us.” _

You were right. It was always the two of you against the universe, fitting so perfectly together and falling so easily on one another for support. In another life, where you fully embraced those feelings and spoke them aloud, maybe it would’ve been easier for you to follow each other to the tailends of the galaxy. But years have carved a canyon between you, and now? Things  _ were _ different. He wasn’t as young and you weren’t as kind. You both needed time to heal your wounds and explore the space in between. 

He looks back to you, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles.

“Wherever you want,” he says, as if it were the most simple solution in the world, “It wasn’t fair of me to ask so much of you and I should’ve just been honest. But know that I’ll be here when you need me.”

You’re pursing your lips, face tight and unreadable.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

His heart clenches and he braces for the worst.

“I understand. I don’t expect you to.” 

“And I don’t think I can stay around you either. At least, not right now...”

He hangs onto that last part, hope shamelessly building inside him. He watches you brush a tear from the corner of your eye.

“...but thank you. I really needed to hear this.”

You’re the first one to break away, standing up and letting go of his hand. Din follows suit, turning to head back to your campsite. But you surprise him. You always do. He feels a tug on his sleeve and your arms around his neck. He allows himself to be stunned for a beat before holding your waist and pulling you in close, breathing you in while he can. The words tumble from his lips, wet and sad.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I know.”

\--

You reach the village by dusk, weary and tired from walking all day with little to no break. It finally came time to find new parts for the Crest, as there was only so much you could do with the scrap that Mando kept onboard. The hike had been mostly quiet, save for the occasional fussy cry from the child. You were still raw and tender from this morning’s talk, and though things still remained uncertain between you, things felt a lot… lighter, like the air was easier to breathe. You never liked being angry with him and now you understood why; it always took so much energy. It kept your heart in a perpetual state of tension, and you couldn’t figure out if you wanted to cry or scream. It has you wondering,  _ how did you keep that up for three damn years? _

The town was relatively small, most likely acting as a trading post for travelers on the main roads. When you cross through the main square, the vendors are already breaking down and turning in for the night. You and Mando agreed to find a place to stay for the night and pick up parts first thing in the morning. 

“Back for more, little one?” 

You smile at the sound of Amir’s voice calling from one of the stands, and you walk over to greet him with a shake of your hand.

“Just the man I wanted to see.”

“I’m glad to see you again so soon,” he says fondly. 

You turn to your partner, “Mando, this is Amir. I helped him with his wagon this morning.”

He nods at the old man in greeting, “Thank you for the food. You’re very kind.”

“So, you’re Mandalorian I’ve heard all about?” Amir asks with a cheeky smirk, “I’ve been told you’ve been causing quite a lot of trouble.”

You snort lightly when Mando stiffens next to you, letting him wallow in embarrassment before coming to his rescue. 

“We’re looking for parts because our ship needs to be repaired right away,” you tell the old man, “Is there a place around here we could stay? It will only be for one night.”   
“Of course! My sister has a spare room. You can eat and rest there, and continue your journey tomorrow.”

You help Amir pack the rest of his produce stand and follow him to a dwelling at the end of the street. The outside of the home is covered in overgrowth, ivy climbing up the concrete walls and wild flowers decorating the front porch. Windchimes and stained transparisteel dangle over the doorway, and you could see propagated plants in clear bottles along the windowsill. When Amir opens the door, the smell of eucalyptus and broth immediately overwhelms your nostrils.

“Igme! We have guests!”

You hear the clanging of pots and shuffling from the far end of the hall. She was a shorter, stout woman with tan skin and crooked teeth. Adjusting her thick glasses, she squints and you and your partner.

“What kind of trouble have you gotten into this time, brother?”

Amir scoffs, “Trouble? I’m no trouble. This is the girl that helped me this morning! The one with the Mando.”

“Ah, so you’ve dragged them all the way here, have you?”

The siblings bicker for a moment before she beckons you all to come inside, barking at you to sit down. When you all flood into her kitchen, she looks curiously upon the excited child in his floating pram.

“Oh? And who might you be?” She asks him with a toothy grin. 

When the baby only gurgles in response, she looks at you and Mando, “You two are quite the odd couple.”

You both panic, speaking over each other as you quickly say something along the lines of, “We’re not–It’s not like that–”   
But the old woman only laughs, waving you off as if to say,  _ yeah, okay, sure.  _

Igme is much more of a firecracker than her brother: Overbearing in the best way possible, but she is kind and welcoming all the same, serving each of you a helping of food before you even have a chance to introduce yourselves. You immediately tuck in, not realizing how hungry you were until you caught a whiff of whatever she had on the stove. Mando, on the other hand, sits awkwardly in his seat.

The old woman asks him pointedly, “Are you not going to eat, Mandalorian?”

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish under her intense stare.

“Igme, he can’t take the helmet off. It’s part of his religion,” Amir butts in. 

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?” She places her utensils on the table, quickly standing and shuffling over to her pantry. She pulls out a tray and starts putting Mando’s dinner on it before handing it to him. 

“Please, ma’am, it’s okay. I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” he tries to say, but Igme is relentless, pointing a bony finger in his face.

“You’ll give me trouble if you don’t eat. It’s disrespectful to deny food,” she scolds, “Go upstairs, and I better not see any leftovers! You’re too skinny; you need to grow.”

Mando stands stiffly in the doorway with his tray, and you shoot him an amused smile. 

Bowing his head at the elders, he says, “Thank you both. We’re very grateful.”

“ _ Eat! _ ”

\--

“So, it seems you’ve patched things up with him.”

You swallow, shifting in your seat shyfully. You don’t look at Amir, instead focusing on feeding the child in front of you.

“Somewhat. I thought a lot about what you said, and it really helped when I talked to him this morning.”

“Oh good,” he muses, “So you told him you loved him then?”

Your hand slips and the spoon clatters loudly to the ground. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, and you hope to Maker that the walls are thick enough that Mando can’t hear you from upstairs. Amir slaps his knees, his laugh bellowing throughout the kitchen while you clean up the mess you made. 

“Igme, these kids are going to kill me.”

\--

After helping clear the table and washing the dishes, you thank your hosts profusely before bidding them a goodnight. You knock on the door gently, and hear a muffled “hold on” followed by footsteps. Mando emerges in the doorway, clad in only his clothes and helmet. 

“We have a problem,” he says and you furrow your brows. 

He steps aside and you push through. The room is fairly small, containing only a few pieces of furniture along the walls: a rocking chair, an overcrowded bookshelf, a dresser, and one bed.

Not two,  _ one _ . 

“It’s fine,” you huff, chewing on your bottom lip, “It’s not like we  _ haven’t  _ shared one before.”   
“Yeah, but–” he cuts himself off, “Look, I’ll just sleep in the chair.”   
You give him a suspicious look and cock an eyebrow.

“Don’t be weird. What you were going to say?”

“I was gonna say the last time we did, things were a lot... _ different _ .”

Your cheeks burn. He was right, of course. The last time you shared a bed with him, you weren’t in the midst of a dramatic falling out and there were a lot less clothes involved.

“That... was a long time ago,” you reason, trying to keep your tone even, “It’s just one night, a–and we’re both adults. We can handle it.”

\--

You lay tense on your side, facing outwards toward the wall and hyper aware of the emptiness behind you. The lights were off already, moonlight illuminating the room in soft blues. Mando was taking an awfully long time getting the baby settled, and your stomach flipped when you heard the carrier doors close shut.

“You sure this is okay with you?”   
“Just get in the damn bed, Mando.”

He sighs another modulated sigh, and you feel the weight of the mattress dip and he settles into a position much similar to yours. The silence of the universe descends once more, and you’re suddenly confronted with the chasm of space between you. You swear you’re exhausted, but despite it all, you’re kept conscious by the presence of the man a few inches away.

“Are you awake?” You don’t mean to say it, but it comes out anyway.

“Yeah.”

You pull at the knitted quilt, clutching it closer to your shoulder. 

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“You’re pulling the blanket.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

You loosen your grip on the sheet, and you feel it move as Mando adjusts it on his side. Another beat of silence passes by. And then,

“They’re nice people,” he says, “Igme and Amir.”

“Yeah. They are,” You say and smile fondly, “They have such great personalities to them.”

“I know. I’m damn near forty and Igme thinks I still need to grow. I was afraid she’d kill me if I didn’t eat.”

You chuckle lightly; watching him get chewed out by a woman half his size  _ was  _ entertaining.

“Amir’s quite nosy, y’know? Kept asking all kinds of questions about us.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

“Oh, you know. This and that,” You hesitate, pulling nervously at a thread on your pillow. The bed jostles lightly, and you could only assume that Mando had shifted places.

“And what does that mean?”

You will yourself to turn around, and you’re met with the slick black of his visor. Your heart skips a beat and you can’t control yourself when you whisper,

“He asked if I loved you.”

A crackle of static cuts through the heavy air, and you see his chest heave.

“And?”

“I said I was angry with you.”

“But do you?”

You blink at him a few times, dizzy and drunk on fatigue. At this point, you wonder if you’re dreaming, that you’re not really awake and these kinds of confessions exist only in your head. In the morning, you will be facing the wall, and soon, you will fix the Razor Crest and then jet off in your own ship, parting and going your separate ways. And this late night exchange of secrets would’ve never happened because there’s still an angry, ugly part of you that wants to launch him into dead space. 

_ Right? _

You hold your breath and tenderly reach over, looping your pinky finger in his and pulling your hands between your bodies as you utter a single word.

“Maybe.”

You’re silent for a moment, but you acquiesce, 

“Yes.”

Because in the morning, you’ll wake up like this, intertwined with him in the most gentle way possible, and you’ll savor every fleeting moment with him while you can. You’ll still split up, go your own way because  _ something  _ in the universe is signaling that  _ it isn’t time for you yet.  _ And you’ll mourn over him every second he’s away because things have gotten  _ so  _ complicated, and the gravity of all your lost potential will always wash over you. Everything that ever is and was and everything that could’ve been– you could drown in it if you weren’t careful. Because even though he didn’t deserve you, he had you. He always did.

Din is quiet for a while, letting your honesty sink in. Your heart slams against your chest and you think you’re on the verge of tears because you’ve said  _ too much _ and you don’t think you can handle it.

And then he asks,

“Do you remember when we got stuck in that canyon?” 

“The one with the waterfall?”

“Yeah, that one. What if we stayed there? Became hermits like you said?”

“Does it even matter now?”

You don’t mean to sound so cynical, so you backtrack.

“We’d probably be happier. Or dead.”

You don’t see it, but you know he’s smiling.

“We should’ve gotten it right the first time,” he murmurs, “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

\--

You’re not sure how much time passes. You don’t even remember falling asleep, but the next thing you know, your eyes flutter open to meet that familiar beskar helmet, and there’s a soft whine coming from the other side of the room. In your sleepy state, it takes you a second to realize that  _ it’s just the baby  _ and _ ghosts aren’t real. _

Pulling yourself out of bed and padding over to his pram, you pick up Mando’s vambrace and fiddle with the buttons until the carrier doors open. The little green bean gawks at you with wet eyes, whimpering and sniffling against his blankets.

Scooping him up into your arms, you whisper to him.

“Hey, kiddo, it’s okay. Did you have a nightmare?”

He digs himself into your chest, and his cries get louder. You panic when you see Mando stir from his place on the bed, so you bounce the child lightly in your arms.   
“Ssshhh, it’s alright. I’m here,” you assure him, “Your dad is asleep. I don’t want to wake him up. Maker knows he needs his rest.”

The kid begins to settle down after some time, relaxing in your arms while his eyes droop trying to stay awake. You breathe a sigh of relief and settle down into the rocking chair, swaying slowly and lulling the child back to sleep. 

“He gets them too, you know? The nightmares,” you tell him, “Must run in the family.”

He yawns, slipping back into unconsciousness slowly and surely. You glance at Mando’s peaceful sleeping form on the bed and continue to ramble to the child in your arms.

“That man… He’s infuriating. Things can never just be easy with him. ”   
He’s fully asleep now, snoring softly just like his father. You gaze out the window and notice that dawn has just started to settle over the horizon, a bright pink dusting the indigo skies. You’re overtaken by this incredible sense of calm, meditating in the quietness of the early morning. Selfishly, you think about how  _ you could get used to this.  _

“What was that word? The one he uses for children?”

Sleep begins to pull at you, too, the motions of the rocking chair settling you further into exhaustion. But you still wrack your tired brain for the word, your already limited Mando’a out of practice after not using it for so long.  _ Adiik? A’den? Ad’eta? _

_ “Ad’ika.” _

\--

It feels like a shot to the chest when Din wakes up and you’re not next to him because now he can’t tell if last night was a dream–if you really took his hand and said you loved him. Neither of you had ever explicitly said the words out loud, and last night was about as much as he would ever get. When he shifts to the other side, his vision is still adjusting to the bright sun of the morning, and his heart sinks when he sees your blurry form asleep in the chair. 

_ Did you regret it? _ _   
_ Pushing himself off the bed with a groan, he walks across the room and suddenly, all the doubts die in his mind when he finally gets a clear look at you. The child is asleep in your arms, tucked against your chest while you snooze with your head slumped against the headrest. Din could watch this forever, and he can’t help but wish that  _ this  _ was his normal. Intimate nights, calm mornings and a loving family within reach. 

Din’s heart twists when he realizes he  _ could’ve _ but he stupidly let it go along with you. 

So he indulges in the fantasy just a little longer, taking his sweet time to get himself ready and stealing glances at you every time he could. And when it was time for it to end, he slips into the refresher, shutting the door loudly.

\--

Igme and Amir wouldn’t accept your money even as you both bickered with them on giving at least  _ something  _ as a token of your appreciation. The only thing they’d accept was your help in setting up Amir’s produce stand in the market before you went, and so you did. Mando and Amir pitched the shade, and you laid out all of his stock on wooden tables while the child watched from his pram, happily eating some berries. Though the morning had been relatively easygoing, the air had been deeply awkward between you and your partner. You’d barely spoken aside from the occasional  _ “sorry”  _ for when you briefly brushed too close. But you still steal quick glances and stare at each other’s backs when the other isn’t looking, wondering when someone’s going to talk about the blurrg in the room or not.

Tearing yourself out of your thoughts, you look back at the baby, who’s thoroughly made a mess of himself with his breakfast feast.

“Oh Maker, look at you!” 

He giggles happily and you laugh with him, purple fruit juice all over his face and jacket. Crouching down, you pull at your sleeve and proceed to wipe it from his lips.

“It’s gonna stain,” Mando’s voice suddenly complains behind you. 

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the tension between you.

“Maybe you can find some new clothes for him here,” you suggest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You smile at Mando warmly for just a moment before turning back to the child. After fruitlessly trying to rub off the juice from his shirt with your sleeve (and Mando prodding you with “ _ quit it, it’s not going to work _ ), you notice something missing from his carrier.

“His silver ball is gone.”

Mando tilts his head and digs through his blankets only to turn up empty.

“It must’ve fallen in the room.”   
Amir, who had stayed entertained from afar, came up to you two in your confusion.

“Did you lose something?”

“Yes,” you say, “The baby left his toy and I’d hate to leave it here.”   
“Igme should still be home. Go ahead and grab it.”

“Thank you so much.” You turn to Mando and gently place a hand on his arm. “Go ahead without me. I’ll catch up with you.”

\--

Walking up to the house, a Pantoran and a man stand at the porch. Igme stands proud and tall at the doorway, hands propped against the frame to act as a steel wall between them and her home. Even with her loud, scathing voice, you don’t hear much of the conversation aside from  _ “I don’t know who you’re talking about”  _ and  _ “there’s no one here.”  _ You stride closer, hand itching to your blaster’s holster when Igme catches your gaze.

The men turn around and your heart drops when you see how heavily armed they are. They’re dressed in sleek black, clothes oddly pressed and neat. You narrow your eyes at them, and you don’t know how, but you swore you’ve seen them before.

“I thought you said there was no one here,” one of them says.

She answers quickly before you can respond. “That’s my niece, Tala.” 

With their backs turned, they don’t see Igme give you a pressing look, nodding her head and encouraging you to keep up the act. 

“Doesn’t look like she’s from around here, grandma.”

“What’s it to you?” you ask, keeping your face stern.

“You tell me, darling.”

Your gaze darts from the men and then to Igme.

“I’m visiting my family,” you lie, “Is it a crime?”

The two thugs tilt their head at you suspiciously.

“We’re looking for someone, and we have reason to believe that they stayed in your aunt’s house last night.”

“And who might that be?”

“A Mandalorian, a child, and…” 

The Pantoran takes a step closer, golden eyes boring into yours. He’s menacing and at least a head taller but you stay indignant, feet planted firmly on the ground. He takes a lock of your hair in his forefinger and your stomach turns.

“...A pretty little thing like you.”

You roughly smack his hand away and push past him, standing with Igme at the door. 

“Sorry boys, but you’ve got the wrong house. Your chances of finding a Mandalorian here are slim to none. I’m here on a family vacation, nothing else.”

The two hunters exchange looks, deliberating over their next action. You shift slowly, hand creeping towards your blaster before they turn back to you and Igme with sinister smiles.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Igme ushers you inside, slams the door shut, and pulls the curtains on her windows. You let out a huge sigh of relief, heart slamming in your chest and sweat beading at your brow. Out of the corner of your eye, Igme stands still, staring at a picture hung on her wall. Her hands shake ever so slightly, scratching the wrinkly skin on her forearms.

“You need to find your Mandalorian and get out of here. It isn’t safe for you,” she instructs, “Take the back door and make sure you aren’t seen.”

“What about you?”   
“We can handle ourselves. Hasn’t been the first time.”

You nod, and say nothing more. You rush upstairs, taking the child’s ball and slipping it into your pocket. You take one last look at the small cozy room and it breaks your heart a little; Igme and Amir had been the first genuinely kind faces you’d seen in a very long time. Even if you’d only been here a day, it was easy to feel like this place was home.

Walking down the stairs, you see Igme still gazing longingly at a photo, unmoving.

“You remind us of her, you know? We were devastated when we heard the news.”

It takes a second, but then it dawns on you.

“Tala was Amir’s daughter, wasn’t she? The one in the Rebellion?”

She nods slowly, breaking her gaze from the wall to turn to you. 

“I told her to go. To never stop fighting. Amir was furious with me, but eventually, he came around. She was a hero,” She says, with a shaky breath. Circling back to you, Igme takes your face in her bony hands.

“I don’t know who those men are or why they’re here, but I know that you’re good kids. You be careful out there, okay?”

You’re speechless, heart blooming with adoration. “Igme, I can’t thank you enough for everything you and Amir have done.”

The old woman pulls you in for a warm, loving embrace, and it takes everything in you to not cry your eyes out. 

“Then don’t. Just stay alive, that would be enough.”

\--

You do exactly as Igme says, stalking behind buildings and hidden streets around the bazaar to find Mando. From the end of an alley, you see a glint of beskar and your heart leaps. But as you make your way down the small road, you’re stopped by a sharp, painful tug on your hair and the barrel of a weapon pressed at your back.

“What did you say about slim chances, darling?”

Cursing under your breath, you raise your hands in begrudging surrender. The Pantoran’s hand moves from your hair to grip the back of your neck, turning you around and shoving you away from the main street. He guides you a few paces down the abandoned back road, pushing past cargo crates and trash cans that litter the way. In an alley up ahead, the sounds of struggle echo off the concrete walls and the grip on your neck tightens as your captor aims the blaster past your face in defense. 

Mando tumbles onto the ground in front of you, the other hunter stalking in tow. You act quick, slamming a hard elbow into the Pantoran’s stomach and seizing his arm, taking aim with the blaster. In his panic, he fires and the shot lands on his partner’s ribs, knocking him back into a stack of cargo crates and giving Mando a chance to get back on his feet. With your captor’s arm still in your hold, you throw him onto his back and fall to your knee. Bringing it flush against your leg, you tug with all your strength, a nasty  _ crack _ resounding in your ears. He wails in pain and his blaster falls to the floor. 

“You bitch!” He seethes. His uninjured hand reaches toward his belt and whips out a vibroblade, but it’s swiftly kicked out of his hands, clattering onto the dirt as Mando stalks to your side. 

“Don’t try it.”

He aims his blaster at the writhing hunter, who squeezes his eyes shut at the sound of the gun cocking. But something about these men itch in your consciousness–something that wasn’t right. Sure, every bounty hunter and their mother was after Mando right now, but _this_ felt different. These two weren’t some rugged, run-of-the-mill mercs who were hired in a seedy cantina; they were trained, calculated, and damning of all, they were _familiar_. They knew exactly who you were at Igme’s, and if they wanted to take you in or kill you, why didn’t they do it right then and there? Unless they were explicitly told _not to cause a scene._

“Wait.”

Mando’s arm relaxes only slightly, looking to you for explanation. Rising to your feet, you take a good look at the Pantoran, studying his features intently and trying to figure out  _ where have you seen him before? _

“Who do you work for?” 

He spits at your feet, “Like I’d fuckin’ tell you.”

You don’t react, steely gaze darting to his limp broken arm. Tilting up your foot, you hover over his swollen elbow, brushing it with the sole of your boot. His golden eyes go wild in panic.

“Let’s try again,  _ darling, _ ” you sneer, “Who. Do. You. Work. For?”

Every word was punctuated with added pressure on his injured limb. He thrashes under your hold in agony, desperately trying to pull himself from under you as curses fly from his lips. But your stance remains strong and you don’t move a muscle.

“F–f–fuck! You kriffing bitch!”   
“You want me to break the other one? Start talking!”

You slam your foot against his arm and he wails. Out of the corner of your eye, Mando tilts his head in what can only be worry. 

“Alright! I’ll talk!” he relents, “I’ll talk.”

Your hold loosens ever so slightly and you let him speak.

“Ever since his arrest, people have been fighting for Khan’s spot at the top. In the end, it was his cousin Kirnall Myn who took over. Once he found out the price on the Mandalorian’s head, his first order was to send us after you.”

The name made your blood run hot. You read his file on the Crest and it made you sick to your stomach. Though Khan was the main face of his ring, you learned that Kirnall was the one who kept it running like a well oiled machine. He’s the reason it expanded across the Rims; he moved the money, pulled in the most expensive clients, and had deliberately placed set-ups on planets with loose laws. With him in charge, things could get a lot worse.

And  _ these  _ clowns must’ve been his trusted hitmen. You let out a frustrated huff, stepping off the Pantoran’s arm and lifting his neglected gun from the ground. He’s weak, groaning in pain and slowly slipping into unconsciousness. But before he can go under, you point and send a shot through his legs. He cries out in agony again, and you’re back on your knees, pulling him by the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not going to kill you today,” you seethe, “because you’re going to go to your little hitman friends and tell them to back off. And then you’re going to tell Kirnall Myn that I’m coming for his head.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks 4 stopping by!  
> see u space cowboys <3


End file.
